


demons rise, angels fall (we have seen each other through it all)

by thandevorn



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Ace Lesbians, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angels, Demons, F/F, Gay Panic, Good Omens References, Idiots in Love, Lesbians, Lesbians Everywhere, Mutual Pining, dont be fooled i claim no knowledge of history, first fic, mostly because i can’t remember what canon is, so much gay panic, they're all just so stupid, this doesn’t touch canon with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot-pole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2020-05-12 04:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19221205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thandevorn/pseuds/thandevorn
Summary: Regina Mills is owner and proprietor of the Black Soul coffee shop in Boston, but is better known throughout the universe as Regaphiel, Princess of Hell, Destroyer of Kings, Butcher of Babylon, Slaughterer of Sodom, and Evil Queen of England.  Around the corner, Emma Swan, better known as Emeleth, Angel First Class and Guardian of the Northern Gate, runs a flower shop called Heavenly Blossoms. They are, ostensibly, sworn enemies, despite the fact that they have a standing joint Sunday brunch reservation at a chic restaurant that serves perfect mimosas.One day, Regina finds a baby in an alley and decides to raise it as her own, setting off a chain of events that will affect not just the two of them, but also the denizens of heaven and hell, God, Satan, humanity, and the universe itself.~or~A Condensed Account of the 5,000 Year History of a Very Important Relationship That Almost (But Not Quite) Ends the World.





	1. Chapter 1

_ Emeleth looks at the sheet of parchment in her hands. It says “Calling” across the top, in the kind of ostentatious, excessively embellished calligraphy the Front Office is so fond of. It's full of thous and haths, written in the formal Tongue of the Heavens, and is  pretentiously unnecessary, since the Front Office could just, you know, call her like normal. _

 

_ Angels. Honestly.   _

 

_ Emeleth rolls the idea of “her” around her head, like trying on a new robe to see how it fits. Angels, in general, are not comfortable with the idea of the sexes, but she’s going to Earth now and humans seem to be rather tetchy about the whole idea. Yes, if she has to pick, she thinks being a woman fits rather better than being a man, and makes up her mind to request a female body from the Equipment Office. Apparently, she’s supposed to get a nice bow and arrow, too. How fun. _

 

_ She’s itching to get down to Earth, can feel the need for change like a current under her skin. Her name’s been on the waiting list for centuries, since the Beginning. She’s fond of heaven, in the general way that all Angels are duty-bound to be, but it’s just so boring up here. Heaven is too neat, too orderly, and so very much the same, every moment more or less like the last. They don’t even have nights up here to break up the day, it’s always the same bright, beautiful sunlight. _

 

_ Boring. _

 

_ Earth is messy, and changing, and full of fascinatingly unpredictable and contradictory humans.   _

 

_ Earth is going to be fun. _

 

_ - _

 

_ Regaphiel checks her appearance in the grimy mirror one last time. It’s a relief to be without snakes for hair, and she’s grown rather fond of the black locks in the short time she’s had them, just one of the many perks of a topside assignment. She can’t wait to get out of Hell, full of demons constantly vying for a spare spot in the dank halls, crowding each other without a moment’s peace. She can’t wait to feel the sun on her face and smell some fresh air. Tempt a few humans every now and again, sow some discord, maybe go to a party. She just knows she’s going to really kill this assignment, make a name for herself as a Demon. _

 

_ Earth is going to be fun. _

 

 

Regina walks down Newbury street and hangs a right on Exeter.

__

It’s a beautiful day in Boston’s Back Bay. The September air is warm with just a hint of a wind-borne chill portending the lovely New England fall that was to come, and the streets are filled with young parents pushing strollers, teenagers in small knots of three or four, and a rather large number of people sporting the distinct Harvard maroon.

__

It really is a beautiful day.

__

How boring.

__

The walk to Regina’s coffee shop is short, and she enters her establishment with what can really only be called a saunter. It’s well-known that Demons invented sauntering, as well as strutting, marching, striding, and prowling.

__

Fun fact: Demons also invented cubicles, most weapons, the college financial aid system, Black Friday, and the tags on the inside of your shirt. Angels claim credit for modern mattresses, indoor plumbing, flowery language, most medicines, and cell phones, which were originally meant to help humans keep in touch with the people they love from afar. As usual, humans found a way to make things infinitely more complicated and therefore highly corruptible, which Regina finds absolutely hilarious.

__

Regina’s barista calls out a greeting from behind the counter, and Regina nods back. Ruby is a hellsend of an employee, she’s polite and efficient, her latte is truly to die for, and her penchant for short skirts has helped more than one man down the road to temptation with barely a whiff of demonic effort from Regina. 

__

Regina grabs the cup of coffee offered to her by Ruby, a mug of their strongest brew, black as sin. She takes a sip. Perfect, as usual.

__

She grabs her ledgers from the back and settles in at her corner table for a little account balancing. Her shop is mostly run now by Ruby along with a couple part-time hands, mostly teenagers after class. Regina loves teenagers, they’re so much more real than adults, so uninhibited and honest in their emotions. Plus, a ticked-off teenager is an Olympic-grade brooder, which Regina can really get behind.

__

She finishes going over the accounts an hour or two later, and finds that everything has been noted precisely and accurately, as usual. She doesn’t need to do much more for the shop, she mostly just has to pop in and check on things every now and again, which suits her just fine.

__

From her corner spot, she can see the whole place, and she surveys the room. She’s always been rather proud of the shop, she decorated it herself. The tables are glossy black wood, with the kind of straight wooden benches and chairs that home magazines rave about, without mentioning that there’s really no way to sit in one comfortably. The walls are a faded reddish color,  with dark wainscoting and tastefully severe modern art on the walls. The whole space is designed to be a little off-putting and mildly uncomfortable, but all the local magazines called it “inspired” when she first opened. Humans are delightfully willing to be uncomfortable if they think it makes them fit in, which is a terribly amusing trait to a Demon, and Regina exploits it mercilessly.

There’s a college student in one corner with a paper due that he’s feeling rather good about. She introduces a little anxiety, and watches with satisfaction as an imperceptible sweat breaks out underneath the rim of his overpriced beanie. There’s a table with a woman surrounded by three kids, she leaves them alone. She has a strict no-kids rule, she’s always had a bit of an unDemonic soft spot for kids, ever since the Beginning.

The table by the window is solely occupied by a forty-something businessman in a bespoke suit that probably cost more than the college kid’s tuition. His aura was black at the edges, and he was eyeing her barista with a look that could really only be described as lecherous.

Well, that just won’t do. She also has a rather embarrassing soft spot for Ruby. She didn’t mind actively encouraging Ruby’s dress, since it served her purpose and she wasn’t forcing anything. But she also made sure that Ruby was...... protected. In a purely Demonic fashion, of course.

The businessman suddenly finds himself and his expensive suit covered in the very hot coffee he was about to drink. How tragic.

He flies out the door in a very satisfying rage. If humans were in any way capable of observation, Ruby would have realized it’s odd that this is the thirty-sixth man to leave Regina’s shop covered in coffee in the three years that Ruby had been working there, but humans are hopelessly obtuse about these things, so she just puts it down to chance. Ruby might have also put two and two together based on her boss’ unnaturally reddish eyes (“I bet she wears contacts”), the fact that Regina never eats (“too concerned about her figure, must be”), the fact that she wears the same outfit every day (“I would too, if it worked for me that well”), or any number of inhuman traits, but humans are much more comfortable explaining away oddities, rather than  deal with the reality of the complexity of their world. It makes Regina's job so much easier.

The door opens a second after the businessman’s hasty retreat to admit a tall woman, dressed in a white shirt, top two buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to the elbows, tucked into light khakis with tan riding boots up to her knees. Her wavy, soft platinum blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her smile was radiant.

Regina smiles widely, before catching herself and schooling her features into a much more Demonic smirk.

Emma waves in her direction and goes up to the counter to order her usual, a sickeningly sweet combination of hot cocoa and a bear claw. She claims the seat opposite to Regina. Claims is really the right word, here, Emma has never been capable of sitting in a seat like a normal being, human or otherwise. She sprawls loosely, her whole body relaxed and open, a sharp contrast to Regina’s closed off, stiff posture. Their clothes are opposite, too. Emma is radiantly light, while Regina is dressed in a severe black suit, with a blood-red silk shirt and stiletto heels, hair dark as midnight and lips the same deep red as her shirt.

Looking at the pair of them, the only words that come to mind to humans are Night and Day, because the real descriptors (rhyming with Dangel and Neiman) are too obvious to be seen by humans and their aforementioned obtuseness.

“What do you say, Phiel? How about a lunch at The Met?”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that, dear. And how do you still want food?” Regina looks pointedly at the bear claw Emma is now devouring with zeal.

“Phiel, come on, you know I always want food. It’s just so good. Come to lunch with me, you know you want to. They have that Chianti I know you like.”

Regina sighs as a pretext, even though they both knew she would accept as soon as Emma had made the offer. “Fine, but I’m going to tempt something awful along the way.”

Emma smiles. “I’m feeling up to a little thwarting, myself.”

Ruby watches as they walk out of the coffee shop, wondering, not for the first time, what exactly was going on between them.


	2. Chapter 2

_ It’s a cold, grey day, about fifty leagues west of the land that would one day become Jerusalem. The clouds above are dark and heavy with unshed rain, and Regaphiel figures they’ll be in for a good storm by tomorrow. She’s flying over the valley, looking for evidence that the tale she heard from some Babylonians in a pub wasn’t just drunken folly. _

 

_ It probably  _ was _ drunken folly, but she had been bored and in the mood for some good exercise, so here she is. The trees stop suddenly and then she’s in a large clearing, more of a plain really, where a rather large crowd has gathered a few yards away from a giant, wooden…. Huh. So it really is a boat. _

 

_ Not drunken folly, then. _

 

_ Regina alights a few cubits behind the onlookers, and is surprised to see a patch of snow-white wings up near the front of the crowd, off to the left and trying to be inconspicuous but failing, miserably.  _

 

_ An Angel. Well, then. This just got much more interesting. _

_ Regaphiel considers her options. If she were to ask any other demon, they would all say she has exactly one option, which is to take the knife hidden in the folds of her homespun tunic and embed it firmly in the Angel’s back.   _

 

_ Not that it would do much good, of course, the angel would be back on Earth with a new body in a couple years or so, probably with a newfound vengeance bent to boot. But it was the principle of the thing, and Demons so rarely snuck up on Angels that it was considered a crowning achievement to bring one down.  _

 

_ Come to think of it, it’s rather odd that the Angel hadn’t sensed her. She takes a proper look about the place and can see why, aside from the large crowd of people muddying up the field, there’s also a rather strange energy to the place. Regaphiel can sense the undeniable white heat that God leaves behind wherever they go, but there’s a darker tinge to it, souring it, a black and odorous rot around the edges. It’s very strange, and rather unsettling.  _

 

_ Answers, then. Nothing for it but to ask.  _

 

_ Regaphiel saunters up to the Angel, catching her delightfully off guard.  _

 

_ “Begone, Demon!” Regaphiel laughs out loud, surprised by the Angel’s response.  _

 

_ “Devil’s fall, I forgot that you Angel-types really do talk like that. How pretentious.” Emeleth has materialized a rather holy-looking bow and Regaphiel tsks. “Now, now, Angel, there’s no need for that. I could have easily discorporated you if I had wanted to, your senses are rather lacking, dear. I just want to talk.”  _

 

_ The bow remains.  _

 

_ “What did you want to talk about, Demon?”  _

 

_ Regaphiel raises one eyebrow at the rather normal turn of phrase. Emeleth shifts from foot to foot and shrugs. “You surprised me.”  _

 

_ “I would just like to know what’s going on, Angel.”  _

 

_ Emeleth looks shocked again. “This isn’t one of yours?”  _

 

_ Well, now, there’s an interesting answer.  _

 

_ “It’s not, Angel, I assure you. Can’t you feel the stench of your God all over this place?” _

 

_ “Yes, but there’s the rot from your kind as well, I know you sensed that too.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel makes a noncommittal noise, somewhere in the back of her throat. “So it’s not one of yours, then?”  _

 

_ “I do not much think so.” There’s a definite hesitation there. Curious.  _

 

_ “Well, what is it that we’re accusing each other of? What’s happening?”  _

 

_ The Angel pauses. “Noah, the Patriarch on the boat, says that God told him the world was going to flood. All of Humanity will be wiped out, save Noah’s family on the boat.”  _

 

_ “Ah. Well, sounds like Noah has been a little too friendly with the wine.” Regaphiel dismisses it easily, she’s seen humans do some truly illogical things, usually after too much wine. One particular incident with a goatherd and a calling-horn was especially memorable.  _

 

_ The Angel shuffles again. “I checked. Upstairs. Its... real.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel’s eyebrows ascend to her hairline. “I’m sorry, Angel, did you or did you not just say you didn’t think this was one of yours?”  _

 

_ “What God told Noah was us. I assumed the Flood was you.”  _

 

_ “Absolutely not! There’s no fun in wiping everyone out, no sport. Also shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, doing something about it?”  _

 

_ The angel looks decidedly uncomfortable. “I’ve got strict orders not to interfere.”  _

 

_ “You’ve got orders not to interfere? Aren’t you supposed to be the good guys? Do you really think this is for the greater good?”  _

 

_ “Oh, what would you know of greater good? You’re a demon.”  _

 

_ “And you think you do? I think you all need to work on your priorities.” The Angel’s face is pained.  _

 

_ She spits out a blessing and twirls on her heel, deciding to leave this mess well enough alone, her wings taking her up and away.  _

 

_ Regaphiel stocks up on a vatful of pitch. She returns to her hut and smears the pitch inside and out, boards the windows and packs some straw under the doors.  _

 

_ A year or two of hibernation sounds pretty good right about now. The first raindrops fall in massive, wet splotches.  _

 

_ Maybe three years. _

 

It’s three days later, and Regina is out for her usual midnight walk. She is on the far side of the city this time, in the suburbs near Admiral’s hill. 

 

So far, she’s let out the air in the tires of five overpriced sedans, and sent nightmares floating through three windows. It’s a calm night, clear and starless, as she walks through the rows of detached houses. 

 

She used to really have a knack for being a Demon, but now she’s gone rather soft, just doesn’t have the heart for it anymore, not since... well. It’s been a while. 

 

She cuts the cable for the neighborhood. The Red Sox are playing the Yankees tomorrow, and a sudden inability to watch their favorite team in one of its most important games of the year will undoubtedly create a fog of low-grade nastiness around the whole area. 

 

That’s good enough for tonight, she thinks, and is about to get back into her pristine black Mercedes S-Class sedan, parked in front of the local grade school, when she hears a small cry. 

 

She shuts her door and follows the sound around the back of the school to the dumpsters. There’s a small bundle of blue cloth that moves slightly, and Regina pulls a bit of it away and—oh Heaven that’s a baby. 

 

She lets out a small, very unDemonlike shriek of surprise. Her thoughts race as she studies the small creature, it’s face pale and his lips tinged slightly with blue. 

 

Regina scoops up the child and holds him timidly. She’s not really sure how humans work, exactly, but they always seem so  _ fragile _ , and this little guy barely weighs a thing. She can see and smell the blood covering him, and knows that he’s only hours old, if that.

 

The knowledge that someone threw him out with the trash fills her with an invigorating rage, but she tamps it down in order to deal with the immediate problem. Namely, what the heaven does she do with the boy?

 

He’s still dreadfully pale, and while the night isn’t particularly cold, it also is definitely not warm enough to keep him alive. She knows she should leave him to die, as would any other Demon. Her job description is pretty straightforward: tempt as many souls as possible, make some minor trouble when convenient. Everything else is meant to be left alone. Demons don’t kill, they just point people in the wrong direction and leave them to make their choice.

 

That doesn’t mean they save babies. 

 

But she can’t just leave him here, she’s not actually cruel.

 

Here’s the thing about Demons. Most didn’t really mean to Fall, not in the beginning, they just had some concerns, a few comments, and a couple suggestions about Heaven, that’s all. Upstairs has always been long on obedience and short on explanations, and most Demons just wanted to know a little more about the Ineffable Plan, which really isn’t too much to ask, in Regina’s opinion. The War and centuries of living in Hell hardened their hearts, until Demons lived up to their cruel potential and took to corrupting with fervor. But Regina’s always had a bit of her old self tucked away in a secret corner. It’s the reason why she limits herself to minor annoyances and corruption of people who probably would have made it to Hell just fine on their own. It’s the reason she tolerates Emma’s presence, and it’s the reason for her strict no-kids rule.

 

And it’s the reason that she can’t let this baby die.

 

She makes her decision, though if she’s being honest with herself she made the decision as soon as she saw the baby and the last ten minutes of staring at his adorably tiny features were merely spent coming to terms with it. She takes off her coat awkwardly and wraps the small figure in the expensive wool. She can’t miracle him clean and warm, not here, not without drawing attention to this place and this time. Cradling him to her chest, she brings him back to the Benz and, more slowly and cautiously than she’s driven in a century, takes him back to her apartment.

 

He makes a soft sound and turns towards the warmth of her chest. When asked later, Regina would describe this moment as the moment she truly started to Rise.

 

-

 

For such tiny things, babies sure do need a lot of stuff. Regina surveys the mess in her living room, which used to be described as severely but tastefully minimalistic and now resembles a disaster zone.

 

It’s been three days since she found the boy. She tried to drop him off at a shelter, but every one she went to was overcrowded or uncomfortable. She may be a demon, but she’s not a monster, and she cannot stand the idea of dropping off her boy in a place like that.

 

Someone should really fix the system.

 

It was astounding how quickly the baby became her boy in her head, but she’s only had him for three days and knows, without a shred of doubt, if anything were ever to happen to him that she would kill everyone in the world and then herself.

 

He’s napping quietly on a carefully arranged pile of cushions a few feet off to her left, and she’s got the pieces of an unassembled crib laid out before her as she stares at the directions, which are written ostensibly in English but look completely unfamiliar. 

 

Regina can read 104 languages. She can read sumerian, english, greek, latin, spanish, mandarin, and egyptian, both modern and hieroglyphs. She learned Klingon once out of boredom. She cannot read these instructions. 

 

She’s been trying to avoid doing miracles around the boy, since there was always the possibility that the Front Office might check in on Demonic activity to make sure it’s being used for appropriately nefarious purposes. It’s unlikely, as Hell tended to take a rather lackadaisical approach to overseeing topside agents, which Regina has always preferred to Heaven’s famous micromanagement. But, it’s possible, and while she’s not sure what would happen if downstairs did learn about the boy, since no Demon has actually tried this before, she’s also not particularly keen to find out. 

 

Which leaves her with the holy instructions. She spits out a blessing and is about to suss out which part looks most like Rod 31Q, when there’s a polite knock at her door. 

 

Aw, heaven. She forgot about Emma. 

 

Well, forget is a strong word. More like she put off thinking about Emma because she wasn’t exactly sure how to tell her enemy-who’s-not-really-an-enemy-no-I-don’t-know-what-she-is-instead that she may have, in fact, mildly kidnapped a baby and was now planning on raising it under her own Demonic influence. 

 

She didn’t see this conversation going well at all. 

 

But Emma is annoyingly persistent, and won’t leave Regina’s blow-offs alone, not for long. They’ve been meeting regularly every few days for a couple centuries now, and it would be a little strange for Regina to suddenly ghost the Angel, though it’s a tempting thought. Plus, if she’s honest with herself, which she very rarely is, as honesty is a rather nasty trait for a Demon to have, there’s a part of her that knows she can’t do this alone, and is hoping Emma steps in to help. Emma can never resist stepping in to help, it’s part and parcel of the whole Angel gig. 

 

So, nothing for it then, just gotta rip off the band-aid, as the humans are so fond of saying. Regina opens the door right as Emma is raising her hand for another perfectly polite rap on the door. 

 

“Regina! I was beginning to worry about you.” Emma smiles widely with her open, trademark warmth. 

 

Regina steps aside to allow Emma to enter her space, which Emma does rather trustingly. 

 

Emma catches sight of the pillow-baby pile and stops, her head tilted for a second in a look that rather reminds Regina of a puppy. Regina secretly theorizes that puppies learned that move from Emma. 

 

“So, Emma, there’s probab—“ 

 

She’s known Emma for about four thousand, three hundred, and sixty seven years, nine months, and twelve days, give or take, and she really thought that she knew the Angel well enough by now to predict her reactions. 

 

She was, therefore, extremely surprised to find herself thrown up against her own door, a wildly incandescent Emma holding her up by the lapels of her Armani suit with a look that was really rather murderous for an Angel who once made Regina stop her car so she could clear the road of a single ladybug. 

 

“You said—you said there were no kids. You said you would leave them alone!! You sa—“ 

 

“Whoa, whoa, wait, you think I’m here, what, tempting the boy? To do what, exactly?” 

 

Emma stops short, but she’s still holding Regina up against the door. “Well, then, what are you doing with a baby, Regaphiel?” 

 

“I’m..... well. I was thinking about raising him.” 

 

Emma abruptly drops Regina and blinks in surprise. “What?” 

 

Regina looks down and wrings her hands, embarrassed by the story. “I found him outside a dumpster in Admiral’s Hill three days ago. I couldn’t just leave him there, and I tried dropping him off at a shelter but they were so nasty, Emeleth, you should have seen them. So I brought him back here and now I’m thinking about raising him.” 

 

“But, you’re a Demon.” Emma states, rather obviously, but Regina forgives her the lapse in wit. 

 

“But I’m not a monster. He’s so small, and I didn’t know what else to do.” 

 

“Well..... did you try to track down his family?” 

 

“I did. No luck.” This is, strictly speaking, not entirely true. Regina went back to the school later that night and followed the traces of blood back to a run-down house a few blocks away, where a teenage girl was weeping in her room while a monster of a man ranted and raved drunkenly downstairs, carrying the stench of unspeakable acts about him like a cancer. 

 

The next morning, the man was dead of an unexpected but perfectly natural heart attack. How strange, the neighbors said. What a shame. How fortunate that he had a large life insurance policy that no one knew about. 

 

“So you’re going to, what, exactly? Feed him? Put him in school? Bandage his scrapes, tell him bedtime stories, cut the crusts off his sandwiches?” 

 

“That would be the current plan, yes.” 

 

“And downstairs is okay with this?” 

 

“Well, not exactly, no. They don’t know, actually.” 

 

“They don’t knOW? You’re going to raise a human child, and you’re going to do iT IN SECRET FROM THE ENTIRE DEMON COMMUNITY?” Emma was doing a rather impressive job of conveying the spirit of yelling at the volume of a whisper. 

 

Regina smirks, in spite of the rather serious situation. “Well, we don’t exactly have a club, dear, but that would appear to be the gist of it.” 

 

“And how do you plan to pull this off?” 

 

“I was hoping you might be willing to help me.” 

 

“Oh. Right.” Regina knows she has her there, the Angel has a predictable predilection for helping and a reckless streak a mile wide. 

 

Regina gently takes the baby from his pillow throne and holds him close, smiling at his still-sleeping face. “Would you like to hold him?” 

 

When Emma thinks about it later, she’ll say this is the moment when she started to Fall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy party people, thank you so much for the positive response so far!! I’ve been having a lot of fun writing this, Im so glad y’all are having a fun time reading it. This is the last chapter in the introduction part, the next part will be snapshots of henry’s childhood feat. lots of mutual pining and swan-mills family stuff. I want to get all of it down roughly to make sure it works as a group, so it’ll be a week or so before the next chapter is up, but once it is then the next few after that should come quickly. In the meantime, here’s a long one, which has also been my favorite so far. I hope you like it!!

_It’s almost a thousand years before Regaphiel sees the Angel again. It’s been a fun millennium. Humans invented stabbing, which was hilarious, and they were starting to move from the dull, muddy, post-flood existence into a rather more civilized life, though outside their new cities things were still mostly dull and muddy._

_She is particularly enjoying Egypt._

_Egypt was thriving, with several cities made of stone, a remarkably well-organized government, and a particularly flourishing art scene, which Regaphiel really, really loved, as much as a Demon can love anything. They were even getting good at music, which was a rather welcome departure from the drunken shanties that comprised most of the music scene up until this point. She’s taken up residence in Thebes, as a Royal Advisor to the Pharaoh Amenhotep. The pharaoh has just gone off on a campaign to conquer Nubia, which promises to be long, bloody, and probably fruitless. It was her suggestion, of course._

_She’s enjoying being fanned by some slaves on the terrace of her downtown house when she spots a flash of snow-white wings. Angels and Demons can hide their wings from view of humans, but they can never hide them from each other._

_She sprints out of the house, knocking over a servant or two along the way, and rushes to the market square. It’s crowded and smelly with the throng of the masses, but the Angel’s wings are easy to spot, and she follows easily. As the crowd thins, she realizes that the Angel is following an Ishmaelite slave caravan._

  _The crowd thins too much, though, to give her cover, and the Angel senses her black aura and whirls around._

_“Well, now, Angel, look at you. Managed to stay corporated this whole time, despite your lousy senses. I’m impressed.”_

_The Angel snarls. “Demon Regaphiel, I was wondering what that stench was.”_

_Regaphiel is relieved. An enemy angel, now this is familiar territory. The last time they met was unsettling, to say the least._

_“Tsk, tsk, Angel, that was downright rude. I’ve had men put to death for less. What brings you to this corner of the world?”_  

_“None of your business, Demon, and if you don’t walk away now I will be forced to discorporate you in the name of Heaven.”_

_Regaphiel sighs. The Angel had been rather interesting last time, without the typical, irritating Angelic righteousness, but it would appear that was just a one-off. This has become boring. She decides to do her Hellish duty instead._  

_Regaphiel plucks her ebony dagger from a fold at her hip and throws it hard at the Angel’s chest. She’s gotten rather good at the art of using a knife, which is not surprising, given that she’s been practicing for a thousand and one years. The motion is smooth and precise, and would have been successful on any human foe._

_This, however, is no human._  

 _The Angel flips backward and twists midair with superhuman grace and speed, her blonde hair flying. She materializes her bow in the same motion and is firing the instant her sandaled feet touch the ground. It would appear Regaphiel is not the only one who has been practicing._  

_Regaphiel dodges the first arrow by bending over backwards and snaps up easily, a hellsfire ball in her hand. She throws this at the Angel, who dances out of the way and fires again and again._

_Regaphiel is nicked hard in her upper arm by a stray arrow. She pauses for a second too long, and the Angel uses that time to glance over her shoulder, realize that the caravan is out of sight, and flee, her wings beating hard as she tries to catch up to whatever interests her so much._

_She tries to unfold her wings, but the blood seeping down her arm is coming thick and fast, and she knows she needs to get it bound immediately. Blessing under her breath, she runs back towards the market, stealing a linen swatch from an unsuspecting vendor and vowing to be better prepared next time._

_Over the next several decades, Regaphiel smells the undeniable scent of Heavenly works several times around Thebes, and even manages to catch a glimpse of snow-white wings once or twice, but she doesn’t see the Angel again in Egypt._

 

Henry is two months old, today.

Emma and Regina carry the last boxes into their new place, about a mile from the Back Bay into one of the Beacon Hill brownstones abutting the Boston Common. They agreed on the need for a new home, since both of their old ones were well-known to their respective employers. This one was next to Boston’s largest park, in a very family-friendly neighborhood, and was near some of the best schools Boston had to offer. It was expensive, but money matters little when you’re immortal. The old apartments were maintained and visited every now and again to keep up appearances, and the new house was gotten in cash under false names.

Both Regina’s coffee shop and Emma’s flower store were more or less self-sufficient, and both owners were known to occasionally disappear without much notice, so that was well in hand. The logistics of their new situation were well sorted.

Parenting itself, however, was proving to be more of a challenge. Regina didn’t even need sleep, but still found herself tired all the time. It’s a wonder that humans have even survived this long.

They had named the child Henry, after much debate. Biblical names were out of the question, both agreeing that they carried just a little too much history. Emma had wanted to make up an Angelic name for him, but Regina struck that, both on principle and also as someone who was a little bit less naive about trusting other kids not to bully her son. Regina wanted an old-fashioned, historical name, but Emma struck most of them on account of too many of the original owners being in Hell.

 

They finally settled on Henry, which has the advantage of not being very popular and is therefore perfect for their purposes. Henry Swan Mills, after both the last names they were currently using.

 

Henry wails from the next room down, just as Regina sets the last of her boxes in her room. She doesn’t have much, which is probably good, given that her penchant for minimalism doesn’t come with a lot of storage. Most of her trinkets and other things collected over a rather long lifetime were in an anonymous storage park outside the city. Sometimes, when she was particularly nostalgic, she would drive out and go through the museum of her life, handling old memories with care.

 

Most of her other stuff consisted of her clothes, both new and old (a rather impressive number of black tailored suits, which were not, as Ruby assumed, _exactly_ the same, though Regina was willing to admit that the differences were small. She also had a fair assortment of expensive silk shirts, in all the different shades of red).

Emma had insisted on her new wardrobe, saying that “Mothers don’t walk around in Zegna and Kiton on Saturdays” and “You started this thing, so we’re going to do it right.”

The last one was used to justify any number of new things, including different decor (“minimalism is horrid for children, Regina”), making Regina actually eat food (“He’ll wonder why you don’t at some point”), and a cutback on her nightly walks, which Regina really didn’t mind, actually. She had coded a program a while ago that posted mildly inflammatory things on social media. It got humans really riled up, for some reason, and generated enough of a funk to keep the Head Office out of her hair, even without her midnight temptations. She should write a book, call it _How to Succeed as a Demon Without Really Trying._

Her new clothes mostly consisted of black boots, black jeans, silk shirts in dark colors other than red (but also red, of course) and the occasional jacket from her suit collection. Emma had sighed when she came out of the Newbury Nordstrom fitting room in her new outfit of choice, but she hadn’t pressed the point, and Regina considered that a win. Emma, for her part, had ditched the monochromatic neutrals and gone with light jeans and brightly colorful plain t shirts, with flowy white cardigans to match, and her ever-present tan riding boots. They traded off on buying clothes for Henry, which meant that, between them, he ended up having the whole color spectrum to choose from.

Regina padded next door on bare feet to check on her son, but Emma had already beat her to it and was softly rocking him as a bottle warmed up in the Kiinde Kozii warmer on the dresser.

The nursery was spared no expense. It was a large room, with lots of sunlight during the day. The hardwood floor was covered in a soft, thick, light green rug and the walls were painted robin’s egg blue. The furniture was black and sturdy, with a pair of rocking chairs in one corner and a hand-carved crib in another. Regina had burned the first one she bought, and then paid a company to bring her a fully assembled new  one.

Emma had contributed several colorful posters of Beatrix Potter characters, while Regina’s additions are grey illustrations of the original Grimm works. There are several wood dressers and shelves, painted black, full of baby clothes and gear. Like many new parents, Regina and Emma went a little overboard with the baby accessories, and bought many gadgets and things that were unnecessary and would probably only be used once. They cannot be faulted for this, even though they fell prey to a rather large number of ads, because it made them feel a little like they were prepared. They were not prepared, in any way, shape, or form, but looking at the nursery, they could pretend, and sometimes that’s a valuable thing.

The bottle warmer, though, was a hellsend, and Regina firmly believed it was the best $17 she had ever spent.

The light goes off on the bottle warmer, and Regina crosses the room, giving the bottle to Emma on her way to sitting in the second rocking chair.

Henry suckles happily, and Regina just stares, which has rapidly become her favorite pastime.

“Is it still okay with you if I drop by the flower shop for a few hours today?” Emma whispers.

Regina starts. “Yes, of course.” They sit like that, gently rocking, Angel and Demon, until their boy has dropped off to sleep almost an hour later. Emma passes him gently to Regina and presses a kiss to his head before walking away.

“Emma,” she calls quietly, and the blonde head turns. “If we go for a walk, can we stop by?” Emma beams. “Anytime, Phiel.”

-

Emma walks the twenty minutes to her flower shop, whistling along to the upbeat pop in her earbuds.

After more than 5,000 years on this earth, humans still amaze her. She can remember when they didn’t even know how to build a hovel right side up and now there’s music running wirelessly directly through her ears. How marvelous.

The bell over her door gives a cheery little jangle as she steps through the bright and airy space. She can feel the plants coming alive around her, standing a little straighter and blooming a little brighter. She loves them all.

Belle, who is a with a customer, smiles brightly upon seeing her and waves. Emma waves back and walks up and down the rows of plants, running her hands over the stems. She’s trying to infuse them with as much love as possible. That was her idea, upon opening this shop, to spread love. She figures that flowers are the only product in this world that purely does good. Books can be used to justify terrible things, candles are dangerous, and ice cream is bad for you, but flowers? Flowers are sold with the sole purpose of bringing joy and color to homes all over the city. Naive as she knows it is, she tries to give them that little extra juice before they go out, make sure they really brighten someone’s day. 

She loops back around to where Belle has just finished wrapping the couple’s bouquet in brown paper and twine. They go on their way with a merry little thank you, and Emma smiles.

She really loves her shop.

The wood is all painted white and slightly distressed, like the well-worn counters of a family cottage. The walls are a pale teal color, and there’s a blackboard behind the counter with prices in loopy handwriting.

“How have things been, Belle?”

“Oh, alright, Em.” Belle responds in her australian drawl. “Much the same, really. The peonies need reordering and we’ve got a request for a bridal shower and two weddings. One wants orchids, and the other wants baby’s breath.” Belle rolls her eyes, and Emma is wont to agree. As much as she loves a good wedding, she vowed long ago to never be part of one, especially not with orchids being notoriously delicate and a truckload of  baby’s breath stinking up the place.

“Decline the weddings, Belle. We’re too busy, all that jazz.” 

“I already did.” Belle winks, and the bell jangles as another customer comes in.

Emma pulls on her old brown leather apron and settles in for a pleasant morning.

 

-

 

The bell chimes around one and Belle turns around only to feel like she’s stepped into an alternate dimension.

That’s rather dramatic, but she did just see Regaphiel, Destroyer of Kings, Butcher of Babylon, Evil Queen of England, Slaughterer of Sodom, and Princess of Hell walk in with a baby, so we’ll forgive her for the cliche. She doesn’t know who she’s seeing is Regaphiel, Destroyer of Kings, etc. etc. etc., but she does have a vague and unshakeable feeling that Regina shouldn’t be anywhere near a baby.

Regina is also wearing jeans, which is at least as weird.

She’s seen Regina on a couple of occasions, mostly when she and Emma pop in to the shop after one of their regular lunches, and she’s never seen Regina in anything less than a three-inch heel, and she knows Ruby hasn’t either.

Belle and Ruby met a year or so ago, after Emma dropped the name of her flower shop and Ruby went to seek it out in pursuit of answers about her boss’ enigmatic friend. Ruby and Belle had become fast friends over their mutual love of cheap wine and bad reality television.

What’s even more shocking to poor Belle, who is doing a rather accurate impression of a fish out of water, is when Emma immediately goes over and starts cooing to the baby in Regina’s arms.

Regina unsnaps the top buckles of the carrier and Emma lifts the boy out smoothly. She presses a kiss to the top of his head and settles him on her hip. 

“Belle, this is my son, Henry.”

Belle has decided that this is a dream, and she should just roll with it. She makes her way over to the center of the shop.

“Hello, Henry! Aren’t you a beautiful baby, yes you are.”

Emma holds him out and Belle takes him gently, holding him out along her arms with her hand under his head. Belle looks up to see Regina clenching her jaw, her lips in a thin line. Belle doesn’t fault her for this, she’s been around enough new moms to have an idea of how hard it is to give up control at first. She passes the boy back to Emma, and Regina visibly relaxes.

“Belle, are you okay if we head out for the day?” Belle nods.

“Of course!” She doesn’t have the heart to tell her boss that it’s usually easier around the shop without Emma being there, who was as like to make a good sale as spend an hour talking her ear off about the various merits and demerits of roses vs tulips, usually while she was trying to help her actual customers. She really does run the shop herself, Emma just stops by to brighten up the place every now and again. This works for everyone involved.  

Regina unbuckles the carrier from her back and drapes it across Emma’s shoulders, who snaps her son into the front. It’s a practiced motion, and they’ve obviously got a rhythm down.

The bell gives its trademark bright ring as they walk out of the shop, and Belle immediately reaches for her phone.

 **bookwyrm:** omg omg omg omg omg

 **RedDelicious:** what?

 **bookwyrm:** Regina just came by the shop

 **bookwyrm:** she was wearing JEANS

 ** **bookwyrm** : **and a COOL-COLORED SHIRT

 **RedDelicious:** i call fake news

 **bookwyrm:** but that’s not the weird part

 **RedDelicious:** it’s not?

 **bookwyrm:** she was carrying a BABY

 **bookwyrm:** HER BABY

 **bookwyrm:** HERS AND EMMA’S BABY

 

Belle’s phone rings.

“WHAAAAAT” Ruby shrieks, and Belle winces and holds her phone away from her ear.

“I swear to God, Rubes, Regina almost took my head off when Emma passed me the kid. They’re definitely parents.”

“What the everloving _hell_?”

“I know!!”

“No way!”   
  
“I know!!”

  
This happens for some time. We’ll skip to the end.

“You need to tell me everything. Your place tonight? I’ll bring the wine.”

“You got it.” The bell jangles, and a customer walks in to the flower shop. “Gotta go, Rubes, I’ll be there tonight, say seven?”  
  
She turns to the young couple with a bright smile on her face.

 

-

 

Belle lives in a bright loft apartment in Cambridge that really shouldn’t be affordable on a florist’s salary. This is because, though Belle is, in fact, a florist, she does not actually make a florist’s salary. Emma pays Belle rather more than she should, and in fact Belle happens to know that Emma pays her rather more than the flower shop actually brings in. Her wages seem to be paid by Emma herself, as they doesn’t show up on any of the books. She tried to correct this with her boss on multiple occasions, but Emma has waved her off every time, and the checks keep coming in without any signs of worry from Emma.

After two years, Belle has resigned it to a sort of miracle, as it has allowed her to leave her less-than-perfect old boyfriend’s house and be on her own for the first time in her life, as well as pay off some debts incurred when she was going through a bit of a rough patch and spent more days in leather pants and seedy bars than she could really afford. Emma has earned Belle’s undying loyalty for this.

 

-

 

Ruby gets off the T at Kendall just a hair after seven and walks up the grimy stairs, the bottles of wine she has in her purse clinking together quietly. She rings the intercom for Belle’s apartment and is buzzed up immediately. She walks through a lobby that was rather new and expensive but made to look old and cheap, in the style that was so popular nowadays. It was all polished concrete and exposed steel, with soft leather sofas and wooden shelves made with structural threaded rods.

She rides the elevator to the fifth floor and heads down the familiar hallway to Belle’s apartment, which has giant, floor-to-ceiling windows and the same industrial chic base as the lobby but which has also been liberally decorated with Belle’s particular brand of homey touches. There are warm rugs on the floor and soft, overstuffed furniture surrounding a large tv. The walls are covered with large bookshelves that are stuffed full of books, giving the overall impression that you’d just entered the home of your grandmotherly school librarian, who was also a bit of a hipster. 

Belle looks up and waves at Ruby’s entrance from her kitchen island, where she’s chopping peppers and onions for some chicken stir-fry. She’s wearing cutoff jeans and a loose t-shirt, her hair in a messy bun, as she bounces around to Papa Roach’s newest album, her predilection for punk music a holdover from her wilder days. Ruby thinks, not for the first time, that she is breathtakingly beautiful.

Some time, and more relevantly some wine later, they are sitting on the couch, toe to toe. They’ve consumed a whole bottle of wine between them, and are opening the second, so things are well and truly underway.

“A BABY.” Belle says as if its a fully-formed thought and not a singular noun.

“Was he cute?”   
  
“Aren’t all babies cute?”   
  
Ruby considers this. “Definitely not.”

Belle gasps, mortally offended on behalf of babies everywhere. “He was the _cutest._ His little face, I died, _so cute.”_ This is to be expected for Belle, who is widely known to be the kind of person who can’t walk past a Petsmart without adopting at least one kitten. On an unrelated note, Belle has three cats, and has been summarily banned from living within three miles of any animal shelter.

Ruby decides to reserve judgement on the kid, though she is willing to admit that Regina and Emma are the type of people to have a devastatingly cute kid. It seems like it would just happen to them as a matter of course.

Ruby is more accurate here than she realizes. Reality is not, as physicists would have you believe, indifferent to humans. Humans who believe things can bend reality around them just a smidge, and while that’s not enough to do big things, like stop wars or solve world hunger, it is enough to do things like materialize keys in someone’s pocket when they’re quite sure that they were left at home, or line up green lights for someone who is running late for work. It’s well known to those who study these things that humans, on average, can believe with enough power to move approximately three-hundredths of a mountain in the Rockies, if they really try. This is noted as 3 centirockies. Children can believe up to double that. Demons and angels have the belief power of about double _that_ , which means that things just kind of _work_ around them, even without the use of their powers. It’s why there’s always a table that just opened up at the restaurant they walk into, for instance, and it’s also why any kid of theirs would naturally be one of the cutest, smartest, most well-behaved kids, just because they believe that he is.

“So does that mean that they’re actually together?” Ruby asks the question on both their minds.

“They must be, right? I mean we’ve thought they could be forever, and now there’s a baby.” Ruby can’t deny this logic, but there’s still something instinctual that always feels like Regina and Emma together are like magnets, but both sides: drawn to each other on a fundamental level, but also fundamentally repulsing each other.

The metaphor is rather strained, but Ruby’s drunk, so.  

“Do you think they’re doing it?”

“Probably. They’re so pretty.” Belle says with the confident logic of the very inebriated.

“You think they’re pretty?”

 “Of course. And hot. Pretty hot.” Ruby is about to fall off the couch, her heart beating hard, her overwhelming Gay Panic threatening to choke her. This is because Ruby, who is almost too gay to function, has had a crush on Belle since approximately four seconds after entering the flower shop more than a year ago. The first three-point-six seconds were spent looking at the flowers. 

Ruby has not acted on this crush, because she firmly believes that Belle is straight, a belief that she holds despite manifest evidence to the contrary. 

“And do you? Think girls are hot.” It’s not the most eloquent way to phrase it, and Belle looks at her curiously.

“Of course, I’m bi.”

Ruby does actually fall off the sofa then, and straight into Belle’s purple and pink rug.

Getting up, she splutters, “Bi! you! bi!” Her Gay Panic has taken over now, which does not bode well for the grammatical structure of the rest of this conversation.

“You didn’t know? You’re sitting on the bi pride flag, Rubes.”

“I thought you just liked the colors.”

“I’ve talked before about girls.”

“I thought you just liked them in a straight way!”

“I wore a ‘both’ shirt to your place last week.”

“I figured you just saw it somewhere.”

“Really, Rubes, that’s downright daft.”

 “I— well, yeah, in hindsight maybe there were a couple signs—”

Belle gestures dramatically to the pride flag rug that Ruby’s still sitting on.

“I mean, I’m okay with it, of course, I’m not trying to be biphobic, you know I’m kind of gay myself, I’m just surprised...”

Belle gives her a withering stare. “Ruby, everybody in Massachusetts knows that you’re gay as a picnic basket.”

Ruby just shrugs, because yeah that’s fair.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, each of them downing another glass of wine.

 “Would you maybe, at some point, like to go out. With me. For……… drinks?” It surprises Ruby to hear herself say those words. Her body has seemingly decided to bypass the brain still laid useless by panic and is taking control of its own accord.

“We’re having drinks now. We have drinks all the time.” Belle answers, and Ruby’s sluggish brain struggles to come up with a witty retort to such indefatigable logic.

“More drinks. Somewhere else. As…… as a…….  date…….. thing. 

Nailed it.

Belle smiles. “It’s about time you asked, Rubes.”

“Oh. Right.”

The conversation turns to easier topics, namely the latest episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians, and the evening passes pleasantly.


	4. Chapter 4

_Regaphiel walls down the streets of Athens at midnight, tempting as many souls as she can see. She’s been restless, lately. Her work has been less inciting bloodbaths and more behind-the-scenes kingmaking, which is fun and all but less... active._

 

_A well-to-do businessman walks past a lady of the night, and Regaphiel smirks and waves her hand. He goes off with her, and Regaphiel feels a small satisfaction, but it’s still not quite enough. She continues to wander, itching with black energy that is just waiting to be released._

 

_-_

 

_Emeleth catches sight of black wings up ahead, and immediately moves to the side of the street. She follows at a distance discreetly, watching as Regaphiel tempts up a storm._

 

_Emeleth hops up to a balcony and lifts herself quietly up to the rooftops, running along the connected tiled roofs. Her feet make no sound as she hops along, following the Demon below._

 

_Regaphiel finally moves away from a string of people and Emeleth smirks, drawing her bow. She’s got her now._

 

_A child wanders into the street, a girl who’s maybe five or six, with ruddy hair and tear-stained cheeks._

 

_Emeleth tenses, her whole body ready to fire to protect the kid._

 

_-_

 

_Regaphiel sees the child and stops. She furtively checks the street, but can’t see a single adult. She tries to edge away, but the girl says “excuse me?” and Regaphiel freezes._

 

_“Excuse me? Can you help me? I’m lost, and I don’t know how to get home.” The girl sniffles._

 

_Regaphiel should just leave the kid alone. She knows this. She’s a Demon, even if kids aren’t in her purview, she still doesn’t go around saving them, that’s an Angel’s job. But there’s a distinct lack of Angels around, and something in Regaphiel rebels at the idea of leaving this girl on her own, in the seedy part of town in the middle of the night._

 

 _She checks for Demons nearby, since she would definitely get reprimanded for this, and grabs the girl by the hand while studiously_ not _thinking about what it is, exactly, that she’s doing._

 

_-_

 

_Emeleth watches in utter disbelief as Regaphiel walks with the girl out of the square and down a nearby road, away from this quarter and towards the more respectable suburbs. She follows lightly, all around the city, until they get to a lane that’s shaded with trees on either side. It’s not the best quarter of the city, but it’s by far not the worst, either._

 

_The girl pulls away from Regina at the start of the lane and sprints down until she reaches the house at the end, where a frantic woman runs out and grabs her tightly, the relief evident on her face even from Emeleth’s far away vantage point._

 

_Regaphiel melts into the darkness, and Emeleth spends the rest of the night trying to figure out the Demon who isn’t like any Demon she’s ever met._

 

-

 

_There’s a rather curious phenomenon in life called the butterfly effect, which says that a small, localized event can have massive implications elsewhere. A local clan dispute leads a young man on the path to forming one of the greatest empires the world has ever seen. Gavrilo Princip buys a sandwich and starts a chain of events that shapes the twentieth century. A careless lab tech returns from a vacation to find that a strange mold had grown on his contaminated petri dishes, which accidentally changes the face of medicine._

 

_Emeleth doesn’t know it, yet, but somewhere in ancient Athens, a butterfly just flapped its wings._

 

-

 

Regina is moving through the streets of Boston, her Benz weaving as gracefully as it can through the sluggish traffic. She’s coming back from an overnight trip up the coast to do some minor tempting up in Maine on orders from downstairs, some college kid who will be a decent President one day. Or, at least, he could have been, were it not for the rather unfortunate drug habit he’s about to develop.

 

She’s almost home, the warm anticipation sitting somewhere low in her gut, looking forward to seeing her son and even Emma too and wait.

 

Home.

 

That’s an odd thought.

 

She’s never had a home before, mostly because Demons aren’t really known to be sentimental, cozy, settling types. You’re far more likely to find a Demon on a back road somewhere, in the kind of nameless bars only locals know, stirring up trouble before riding off into the dawn in a flurry of black leather and ill intentions. That’s how she likes it, only staying in one spot long enough to make her mark before leaving it to spread like an ink spill in water, though she tends more towards the Ritz over seedy dives. 

 

Usually she’s tired of a place by a year or two, and it surprises her to realize that she’s already been in Boston for four years without feeling the familiar itch to move on.

 

-

 

Regina opens the townhouse door with an armful of groceries in a paper sack, only to be assailed by the loud strains of disco music coming from the living room. She sets down the bag on the table, and walks into the living room to see Emma hopping around the edges in what reminds her vaguely of a pagan dance she saw in the woods once. Henry is in the middle, wearing only his diaper, and she raises one eyebrow as he jumps around, trying to imitate his Ma. 

 

She takes back any nice thing she’s ever thought about Emma’s influence. Her son is being ruined by his other mother.

 

“What, might I ask, are you doing?” 

 

Emma grins at her. “I’m teaching our son to dance!”

 

_My my! At waterloo, Napoleon did surrender. Oh yeah!_

 

“I think in order for you to teach him to dance, you would actually need to know yourself.” Regina says, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

 

Emma sticks out her tongue. “Spoilsport.”

 

“You are a child, dear.”

 

Emma just shrugs good naturedly, then stops hopping in circles and stands in one point, shaking back and forth in what is probably meant to be disco dancing. Henry follows along, but can only manage what would generally be described as a wiggle instead. Even Regina has to admit that it’s delightfully funny.

 

Emma cackles. “Yeah, little one! You go kid!”

 

Regina goes over to the stereo and changes it to Danse Macabre. “If you’re going to teach him music, you should show him the good stuff, not the din  you were listening to before.”

 

The minor chords start off and Emma shrugs. “As her majesty wishes.”   
  
She picks up Henry and takes his hand, then starts twirling around the room in a rough approximation of a waltz. He giggles in delight and burrows his head into her shoulder, and they carry on through the end of the Danse and into Les Carnaval des Animaux. Regina stands there for far longer than she probably should, watching them, before she rolls her eyes and moves into the kitchen.

 

Home.

 

What a concept.


	5. Chapter 5

_ Regaphiel has adopted the name Regula and is living in Rome, which offers many opportunities for a Demon to shine, and she takes to the task of corrupting the republic with relish. The Romans are singularly preoccupied with war, which Regaphiel encourages wholeheartedly.  _

 

_ She had seen the Angel many times in the interceding centuries, often times with one of them walking away bleeding profusely. Something about the Angel is incredibly intriguing, and Regaphiel has long since stopped actively trying to discorporate her. She still fights, because she’s a Demon and it’s fun, but something stops her from actively wanting the Angel dead. They’ve both been busy, with each of them showing up all over the known world, from Egypt to Nubia, Crete, Israel, and Greece, and now to Rome.  _

 

_ It’s about five hundred years before the son of God would walk the Earth, and the Roman republic is new and full of promise. Regaphiel is being carried through the streets in a style befitting someone of her station. When asked, no one knows what her station is, exactly, but all are agreed that she is very important and very much not to be ignored.  _

 

_ Regaphiel is let down outside the thermae favored by those of the upper class, and is immediately disrobed by quiet, meek servī who then usher her into the expansive bath. The steam rising off the fire-heated water is hellish, and Regina sighs in pleasure. She sinks in the large tub up to her shoulders and moves off to the side of the tiled space, enjoying the soft fragrances and luxurious water.  _

 

_ The Romans really knew what they were doing.  _

 

_ Regaphiel has her hair washed by a servus and then opts to just sit for a long while, enjoying herself.  _

 

_ Or at least, she is enjoying herself up until the Angel steps in across from her, her impossibly white wings fanning out in the water.  _

 

_ “Hello, Regaphiel.” The Angel starts, and Regaphiel is immediately holding a knife pulled from under her towel on the side of the bath.  _

 

_ “Wait, wait, I have a proposal.” The Angel seems far more relaxed than she’s been in centuries, and Regaphiel is cautiously intrigued.  _

 

_ “Yes?”  _

 

_ “Well, neither of us has been successful in killing the other, yes? Despite centuries of trying?”  _

 

_ “I could kill you right now, Angel.”  _

 

_ “Sure, sure, I don’t doubt it. But I would just be back, with a new body, so it’s rather pointless, yeah?”  _

 

_ “I suppose.” This had been more or less Regaphiel’s thought, too, but she was unwilling to say so out loud.  _

 

_ “So, I propose an arrangement. No more fighting. I’ll bless things, you’ll tempt them, the balance will be exactly the same, but we can stop looking over our shoulder all the time.”  _

 

_ “Only one problem with that, Angel. I would be required to trust you.”  _

__   
__   
_ “I’m usually trustworthy.” _ __   
  


 

_ “So sayeth liars and truth-tellers alike.”  _

 

_ “Fair point, but you’re forgetting that I’m an Angel. We’re basically not allowed to lie.”  _

 

_ “I highly doubt that’s true.” _

 

_ The Angel shrugs. “It was just an idea.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel considers it. “Alright, Angel. We’ll try it your way.”  She was not, in fact, born yesterday and will therefore not drop her guard, but she’s curious what the Angel is up to.  _

 

_ The Angel beams. “Great!” She holds out her hand. “The name’s Emeleth, by the way.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel takes her hand gently, half-expecting to be blown out of the water, and gives it a perfunctory shake when it turns out to be just a hand. “Terrible to meet you, Emeleth.”  _

 

Henry is an utterly adorable boy of three and a quarter, and he’s a quiet, ordinary child, despite his rather extraordinary upbringing. 

 

He loves Cars, his mothers, grilled cheese sandwiches, and wearing pajamas, in that order. His ardor for Cars is the kind of passionate hyperfixation that a toddler often has, and he loves it with his whole soul. His room, therefore, has been transformed from the nursery into a Cars fest, with a Lightning McQueen bed, Lightning McQueen sheets, Cars posters, and what would appear, at first glance, to be every toy ever made about the movie. Emma and Regina spoil their son thoroughly and shamelessly. 

 

They’re not perfect parents, but they’ve managed with aplomb. They made it through the sleepless nights, through a clumsy child’s many scrapes and bruises, through potty training and teething and his first steps. They managed through a night last year when Henry pulled down a pot of pasta water and scalded his right arm; it’s a night they don’t talk about, a night where Regina came apart at the seams, spreading a cloud of evil around the Boston harbor until Emma wrapped her arms and wings around her, keeping them both sane through sheer force of willpower alone. 

 

But today might be the hardest day yet, for today is Henry’s first day of preschool. 

 

He’s excited, mostly because he’s three and therefore naturally excited about everything. He’s in his favorite of his many Cars shirts and some sweatpants, which offends Regina’s fashion sensibilities. He had tried on jeans once, labeled them “hard pants” with a derision usually reserved for broccoli and bedtime, and refused to go near them again. 

 

She walks him the three blocks to Park Street School, which is a bright and expensive primary school that promises “meaningful interactions” and “engagement for our students.” This is a probably unnecessary expenditure of effort on children young enough to still need naptime, but that’s neither here nor there. She’s swinging him back and forth, with Emma holding his other hand as he giggles in delight. All too quickly they arrive at the three-story stone structure. A pleasantly round woman checks his name off the list in a brightly colored cubby room, and says some well-meaning platitude about taking it from here that makes Regina want to punch her. 

 

They take turns hugging him tight until he squirms away, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil his mothers are going through as he has been distracted by a toy that looks vaguely like Mater. 

 

Emma looks like she might cry as he runs down the hall, and Regina takes her firmly by the arm and steers her out of the building, knowing that her own capacity to not set things on fire is running dangerously low. 

 

They spend the next three hours and thirty six minutes wandering the city, doing everything in their power to distract each other. Emma performs a rather large number of extravagant miracles, and Regina smites in equal measure, which makes for one of the more confusing days that Beacon Hill has seen in a long while. 

 

Precisely fifteen minutes before noon, they are outside the school again in the midst of a knot of equally anxious parents, but when he bounds out of the cheerful building a couple minutes later, asking for a grilled cheese sandwich and babbling happily about the girl he sat next to who also has an affinity for Cars, something inside both of them loosens just a little. 


	6. Chapter 6

_ Emeleth walks through the Forum, her toga rustling in the wind. She rather likes togas, they remind her of the robes she used to wear in Heaven.  _

 

_ She’s been sent an assignment, and needs to bless one of the Senators, a man by the name of Tiberius Gracchus, as well as his brother Gaius.  _

 

_ She weaves through the crowd until she spots his red curls, and pops over to send some good vibes his way. Her day’s work done, she contemplates where to go for a spot of lunch.  She spots black wings peeking out of a divan carried by six well-muscled men, and she smiles, her lunch plans temporarily forgotten.  _

 

_ She falls into line behind the carrier and follows it to its destination, a large house on the outskirts of the city with high walls around an expansive yard.  _

 

_ Regaphiel steps out of her sedan chair and Emeleth steps up next to her.  _

 

_ “Hello, Regaphiel.”  _

 

_ - _

 

_ She spins and crouches, a knife in her hands, before she sees its Emeleth and relaxes just a hair.  _

 

_ “Devil’s fall, Angel, you startled me.”  _

 

_ Emeleth just grins. “How’re things?”  _

 

_ Regaphiel is still expecting a trick, but Emeleth seems sincere, which is odd.  _

 

_ The Angel continues, regardless of Regaphiel’s silence. “I was just going for a spot of lunch, can I tempt you to join me?”  _

 

_ “I don’t eat.”  _ __   
  


_ “Oh well you are missing out, but okay. What are you up to?”  _

_   
_ _   
_ __ “A bit of business. I need to check in on some of my gladiators, make sure they’re being trained properly.” 

_   
_ _   
_ __ “Can I come?” 

 

_ Regaphiel considers. “If you must." _

 

_ - _

 

_ The clang of iron against iron rings out across the yard. Regaphiel and Emeleth are sitting on a covered balcony on the second floor of the red house, watching gladiators in training in the yard below. There are a dozen or so dangerous-looking men and women in leather armor, paired off and practicing dueling by sword.  _

 

_ Emeleth is staring at the pair right below them, a tall, lean man with shoulder-length black hair and a wicked grin facing off against a heavily muscled woman who whirls like she’s dancing. Emeleth sighs. “Oh come on!”  _

_   
_ _   
_ __ “What?” Regaphiel asks absentmindedly. 

 

_ “That technique! It’s hideous.” She cups her hands around her mouth. “Move your feet!” She cries, going completely unnoticed by the sparring partners below.  _

 

_ “You think you could do better?”  _

 

_ Emeleth snorts, offended. “Of course.” _

 

_ Regaphiel gets an idea right then. A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad idea.  _

 

_ The best kind of idea. She grins.  _

 

_ - _

 

_ “Come on, Angel, it’s just a little farther this way. They’re the best seats in the house.” Emeleth walks on through the halls of the arena, rather too trusting for her own good.  _

 

_ Regaphiel turns a corner and suddenly turns, throwing Emeleth into a small room with stone on two sides and bars on the other two. She clangs the iron bars shut, trapping the Angel inside.  _

 

_ “What the hell?” Emeleth twirls, then looks out the far side to the sand-covered arena beyond. “Hey! You can’t do this”  _

 

_ “You said you could do better. Prove it.” Regaphiel’s got a shit-eating grin on her face and is thoroughly enjoying herself.  “And if you do, if you win this tournament today for me, I’ll split the winnings with you.”  _

 

_ Emeleth looks back and forth, to the bars on the far side, torn. “But why? We were getting along.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel just shrugs, grinning.. “I’m a Demon, this is fun.”  _

 

_ She continues, baiting the Angel. “I, for one, don’t think you can win. I heard Marcus Lucretius will be in this bout, and he’s unbeatable. If you don’t want to try, then miracle yourself out here. It’s your choice.”  _

 

_ There’s a pause. Then Emeleth grabs the sword and bow on the ground and walks out to battle in a huff, saying “You’ll rue this day, Demon.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel just laughs.  _

 

“Which one’s yours?” 

 

Emma looks up, startled from her musings. 

 

“What was that?” 

 

The man next to her on the bench waves his hand over the playground. “Which one’s your kid?” 

 

He’s sharply dressed for the park in a powder-blue suit, his neatly dreadlocked hair pulled back from his face with a cord. He points to a young boy in a pale yellow collared shirt and rapidly dirtying black pants who is currently on the slide. “Mine’s Jayden, this is his reward for being good in church.” The man smiles openly. 

 

“Oh, right.” She points out Henry, who is swinging with glee. “Henry, over there.” 

 

“Cute kid.” He says.

 

She beams proudly. “I know, right? And yours as well.” 

 

“Thanks.” 

 

They’re silent for a moment. Emma has an enthusiastic love for all of humanity’s quirks and habits, but she rarely actually interacts with humans, aside from Belle. She’s been told that Angels have little bit of an imposing aura, like a superstar or a president, where they don’t quite feel human enough to actually approach. She’s always been a little sad about that. Making small talk with a stranger is, well, a little thrilling, but she’s also out of her depth. 

 

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” The man comments, and Emma relaxes. She can talk about Henry all day long. 

 

“Oh, yes. I could have sworn I was feeding him a bottle just yesterday.” 

 

“I know, right?” 

 

“He’s only been here for a small part of my life, but it’s weird, I can’t really think of what I used to do without him.” 

 

He nods. “First kid?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“Jayden’s my fourth. He was a bit of a surprise, but I feel the same way, I couldn’t imagine our family without him.” 

 

“Are the others here?” 

 

“Nah. They’re a lot older, almost grown now. A little too old to be at the playground.” 

 

“Does it ever get easier?” 

 

He laughs, a deep throaty sound. “Nope. Some things do, they stop relying on you for so much, but when you stop being focused on just making sure they survive then you have to start dealing with things like whether or not they’re happy and prepared and stable, which is hard, too. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough for the others, if they’re going to be okay, if I’m missing something, if I’m there enough.” 

 

It’s curious, Emma thinks, these humans. They’re so willing to bare their hearts to strangers but so hesitant to do the same with people they actually know. 

 

“How do you do it?” 

 

“Do what?” 

 

“Not constantly freak out.” 

 

He laughs again, his brown eyes sparkling. “At some point you just have to accept that you’re doing your best, and that’s all you can do, I guess.” 

 

“Huh.” 

 

He stands up and smiles. “Don’t worry, kid, you’re doing great.” 

 

As he collects his son and walks off, Emma watches Henry and mulls things over.

 

How strange humans are. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is up party people i hope y’all are doing great. this one is a little long but i hope you like it!! thanks so much for all ur kudos and comments, i’m so happy y’all are liking it so far.

_ Regaphiel and the Demon world are all in a frenzy as they try to pinpoint the location of the Christ child. All demons have been recalled to Hell, which results in the most peaceful five years topside that the Earth has ever known. This goes largely unremarked by humans.  _

 

_ Regaphiel is poring over maps of Israel, trying to match a map of known Heavenly acts with accounts of human activity. She’s hoping to match a human who’s been at each site. She thinks she might have something on a man named Joseph, when she feels the undeniable shiver up her spine, an instinctual reaction to Lucifer’s powerful aura.  _

 

_ Every Demon in the room stands straighter and goes quiet. Her Master is in human form today, wearing fine robes of heavy black fabric embroidered with red thread that shines like fire. He’s tall and lean, with a long face and eyes the color of fresh blood. His hair is a mop of shining black curls, with a circlet of flame at his brow. Nothing of his figure is particularly imposing, but his aura is powerful and black as pitch, giving anyone in the general vicinity an undeniable feeling of smallness and dread.  _

 

_ “Now, then” he drawls, almost lazily. “Who here has found the Messiah?” He walks, slowly, around the tables near the door of the room. He draws the pads of his fingers across the maps there, running them over the tacs and scraps of spare, dirty parchment. “Anyone?”  _

 

_ Regaphiel knows this is dangerous, and weighs the pros of saying something and being right versus the cons of not saying something and it being revealed later that she knew and fucked it up. _

 

_ “My Lord?” She says demurely, but with confidence. Below all else, Satan really can’t stand weaklings. “I believe the boy may be in Nazareth.” His eyes snap up and bore into hers, but she holds her ground, knowing he would take it as a sign of weakness if she looked away.  _

 

_ “How sure are you, Regaphiel?” His words are precise and clipped. Regaphiel has never had parents, but in that moment she can clearly imagine the apprehension a child feels when her parents say her full name in That Tone.  _

 

_ “Nothing’s certain, my Lord, but there’s been a rash of Heavenly activity surrounding a man named Joseph, including what I believe to be the signature of the Angel Gabriel.”  _

 

_ “Well, then. Return topside and find out for certain. If you’re right, report in and we’ll send you a team to command. If you’re wrong………. well.”  _

 

_ - _

 

_ Thirty-two years later, Regaphiel, newly-crowned Princess of Hell, is standing in a field that is heavy with the scent of death. Two others have already expired by crucifixion, and they’re in the process of nailing the third to the cross. The cries he makes are pitiful, and Regaphiel feels a tinge of regret for the first time in her long life. She knows this is part of the Ineffable Plan, knows this isn’t entirely her fault, and knows that this will have long-reaching impacts that she’s not in any way capable of comprehending right now.  _

 

_ But she finds that doesn’t help, much. She may be a Demon, but somewhere along the way she stopped being a monster.  _

 

_ Emeleth is here, too, openly weeping. When she turns away and hangs her head, Regaphiel steps closer and wraps her wings around the both of them, shielding Emeleth from the sight as much as she is able. She watches, her eyes a little watery, as they lift the cross into place.  _

 

_ This was the first act of kinship between an Angel and a Demon since the First Fall.  _

 

_ It would not be the last.  _

 

When Henry is four, he and Regina are at the coffee shop one chilly Saturday evening in October. He’s behind the counter, with Ruby teaching him how to make proper hot cocoa. Hot cocoa has supplanted grilled cheese as his favorite food, much to the chagrin of Regina, who is a bit of a stickler for healthy food. 

 

Regina feels the hairs on the back of her neck prick up with Demonic energy, and tells her son to hide. He does this quickly and without complaint, having been drilled in this constantly for years. He doesn’t yet realize this is an odd thing for a child to do. 

 

Regina turns deliberately slowly to the front of the door, changing her clothes to a severe suit and adopting the mannerisms of a proper Demon, just as the door opens to admit two beings and a cloud of malice. 

 

The first is a smaller man, with long grey hair pulled back into a ponytail, carrying a gold-tipped cane. He is Rumbove, Duke of Hell. 

 

The second is a taller, imposing woman, with pitch-black eyes and a fearsome aura. She is Koradya, Duchess of Hell. 

 

Regina is more terrified than she has ever been. She hopes she hides it well. 

 

-

 

Emma’s phone rings, and she’s surprised to see Ruby’s name on the screen. The two had become friendlier in the years that Ruby and Belle had been dating, but not to the point where she would call in the middle of the day. 

 

“Ruby? Hey, what’s up?” 

 

“Emma? I’m not sure what just happened? But I was showing Henry how to make cocoa and then she got all weird and told him to hide and then she just walked out with these two really creepy-looking people and they called her Regaphiel which is odd and I don’t know what to do…”  It comes out in one long breath, hesitant and shaky. Humans are always a little shaky when faced with pure demonic energy for much the same reason as why people are weak when they’re ill. Demon energy is a rotting, festering sickness that seeps into the soul and takes a while to wash clean. 

 

Emma feels a cold and sudden grip of fear. She’s never really felt fear, before, but she knows that’s what this is. Her feet are already carrying her out of the flower shop, much to the confusion of Belle, who heard Ruby’s name. 

 

“Where’s Henry?” she  asks, her brain focusing on the only thing that matters. 

 

She barely hears Ruby’s answer, her feet flying over the sidewalk. It’s only two blocks to the coffee shop, but it feels like miles. 

 

Emma is running flat-out, her energy out of control, giving her an unearthly glow. She doesn’t notice this, nor would she care if she had. 

 

She rushes into the coffee shop, her energy radiant and wild. It chases the lingering dark traces from the shop and all the occupants breathe a sigh of relief. 

 

Henry bounds into her arms. He’s not quite sure what happened, but he’s unsettled enough to know it wasn’t anything good. She runs her hands over his cheeks and hair until she’s satisfied he’s whole, then picks him up and settles him on her hip. 

 

The panicking side of her brain is calmed by his weight, meaning that she can now actually focus on the task at hand. Emma snaps her fingers, and everyone in the shop goes still. Henry is asleep with his head buried in her thick sweater, all others are in a sort of trance. 

 

Emma walks up to the blank face of Ruby, and asks for a full recount of the morning. Ruby saw two people come in who, quote, “gave me the creeps,” and Emma knows them to be two of Lucifer’s top Demons from her description. They told Regaphiel that the Master wanted to see her, and she walked out with her head held high, not looking back once. 

 

Emma considers for a moment, and comes to the conclusion that two possibilities exist. 

 

First, Regina has been called into Hell on routine business, and will be back as soon as she can be. We’ll call this the ideal option. 

 

Second, Hell has found out about one or more of Regina’s many transgressions, and she will soon be subject to a trial she certainly will not be found innocent in. We’ll call this the Bad Option. 

 

It’s also possible that they found out about Henry. We’ll call this the Too-Terrible-to-Think-About Option. 

 

“When you wake up,” Emma says as she turns to the whole room. “You will have spent a pleasant morning in this shop. There were no other people here. You remember nothing.” She snaps her fingers again, and the whole shop looks up simultaneously, sleepily remembering a pleasant daydream as they come back into consciousness. 

 

Emma is already out the door, blonde hair streaming, her unseen wings encircling Henry as she runs as fast as the wind. 

 

-

 

Henry is still asleep as they walk through the doors of the townhouse. Emma arms the sprinkler system and grabs a squirt gun on a strap from a hidden cabinet by the door, which she slings over her shoulder. She checks the house quickly but thoroughly, then does it again just to make sure. 

 

She’s pretty sure that downstairs doesn’t know about Henry, or else they would have looked for him at the shop, but she can’t take the chance that she’s wrong about that. She’s been squirreling away holy water in bottles for years now, carefully diluting it as much as she’s comfortable doing, and the result is a large vat underneath the first floor that’s mostly full. Her sprinklers are attached to it, and she keeps several SuperSoakers full around the house, ready for a Demon fight. 

 

If it’s Angels that come, there are also several glass jars of hellsfire that Regina’s placed around the house. Storing fire in airtight jars may seem to be impossible, but there’s an obvious explanation, which is that hellsfire is not actually required to abide by the laws of physics. Regina’s hellsfire stays put because she told it to, and it is very well trained. 

 

Emma positions herself in the doorway of Henry’s room, at a point where she can see both her son’s sleeping form and down the hall. She tenses, unfolding her wings and holding the SuperSoaker with the poise of a soldier holding an assault weapon. 

 

It’s been 36 minutes and 43 seconds since Emma got Ruby’s call. 

 

If someone were to measure right now, they could see that Emeleth is now hoping with a belief power of approximately 43.16 centirockies. This is, in fact, higher than recorded for any being on Earth since the Beginning. Except, of course, Jesus Christ and Adam Young, who are outliers and shouldn’t be counted. 

 

-

 

It has now been twenty-eight hours since Emma got Ruby’s call. Henry woke up, and they spent a rather uncomfortable  day watching movies and eating junk food in their pajamas, while Emma furtively checked the door every few seconds and tried her hardest to keep up appearances. Henry accepted her answer that Regina was just running some errands and would be back, but he could feel the tension and was cranky all day, mostly staying curled up in Emma’s lap. 

 

Emma had spent the whole night standing guard over her son’s bedroom, and has now resumed her post to spend another night as sentry. Her thoughts wander in as her eyes constantly sweep back and forth. 

 

She’s still terrified, which puzzles her. Yes, it’s possible that Henry’s in danger, which makes her heart race. But she can see Henry, she knows he’s okay, and is reasonably confident that she can keep him safe from Demonic harm, should the need arise. It’s an unpleasant thrill of a situation, but it’s not the main source of her fear. 

 

So what is? 

 

Her thoughts, defiant little buggers that they are, keep returning to Regina, and Emma comes to the surprising revelation that she really can’t stand the idea that Regina might come to harm. She’s actually afraid  _ for Regina.  _

 

Huh. 

 

Of course she cares for Regina, but she’s an Angel. She cares for everyone, it’s in her job description (applicant should have a propensity for righteousness and an ability to love all God’s creatures. must be willing to travel. prior knowledge of holy weaponry a plus). But her love for all Creation was like the love of a grandmother in another county—strong and comforting, but distant and impersonal. She’s not really supposed to get attached, it would interfere with her ability to see the bigger picture. 

 

Regaphiel the Demon has always fascinated her, more so than other Demons and certainly more so than other Angels. Even before Henry, she had seen the softer side of the Demon, and since Henry she had seen an entirely different side to her. She’s been used to Regina’s presence, something that’s bound to happen when you know someone for 4300 years, and she’s comfortable around the Demon. But it’s more than that, she actually likes having Regina around. 

 

She’s watched Regaphiel spread evil across the universe, cause the deaths of thousands of men and the losses of millions of souls. But she’s also seen Regina kiss Henry’s knees when he fell off his bike, cut his peanut butter sandwiches into dinosaurs, and sing him lullabies. Her body has bled from Regaphiel’s knife, but she’s sat on the couch with Regina, talking until dawn. 

 

And now she’s terrified that Regina won’t return. Not because she can’t raise Henry on her own, but because she doesn’t particularly want to. 

 

She wants to see him grow up and do homework in Regina’s coffee shop, working through math problems under her watchful eye. She wants to take him to the movies with Regina, some new horror flick that she has a feeling he’s going to develop a penchant for. She wants to sit in the principal’s office as Henry gets in trouble for something, Regina secretly beaming with pride and Emma trying to be the voice of reason. She wants to sit next to Regina at his graduation, teary-eyed and so proud it hurts. 

 

These are, obviously, rather odd thoughts for a being of light to have about a being of darkness, and Emma is in turmoil. 

 

She almost misses the small creak of the steps that herald someone’s arrival in the house. Her body tenses, every sense straining. She closes Henry’s door on soundless hinges. 

 

Emma pads slowly down the carpeted hall, her modified  SuperSoaker leading in front, her finger ready on the trigger. 

 

A shadowy figure rounds the corner, and Emma flicks the light, yelling “freeze!” 

 

It’s Regina. 

 

Emma drops the water gun and hugs her tight, relief washing over her harder than being hit by a wave in a storm. 

 

“They just wanted to know about computers, they’ve finally figured out it could really work for them, I didn’t want to look back, I couldn’t send a message, couldn’t make them suspicious…” Regina is babbling into her shoulder in a decidedly unDemonic fashion, the adrenaline of the past couple days leaving her body in a rush. Emma is crying. 

 

Regina pulls back. “Henry?”    
  
Emma smiles and wipes her eyes. “Sleeping, completely fine.” They move back towards his room, where Regina takes a seat on the bed and runs her hands over his hair. Emma sits in the chair in the corner. 

 

Regina disappears for a second and reappears sans the suit and dramatic makeup, wearing soft black pants and a dark blue t shirt. She  lies down next to their son, humming an old melody that Emma faintly recognizes as an ancient Egyptian tune. 

 

It is, at this point, rather inconveniently, when Emma Swan realizes that she is in love with Regina Mills. 

 

-

 

It’s two days later, and Emma feels like she has to leave the house or she might explode. She’s been jumpy, twitching every time Regina walks in the room and having a definite problem with forming sentences. 

 

Nothing’s really changed, of course, because Emma has been in love with her Demon for a very, very long time now. The problem is that Emma is now  _ aware  _ of it, which is causing many problems, of which the main three are: 

 

  1. She shouldn’t be able to feel this, which is worrying her. Angels love all things, but she shouldn’t be physically possible of loving specific things this intensely. Angels were designed not to get attached, it’s supposed to be in their very Nature. 
  2. Regina is a Demon. By all known rules of the universe, she should hate Demons. This is so far beyond the boundaries her normal  operating parameters that she feels…..well, a little lost, actually. 
  3. She keeps daydreaming about Regina’s hugs, which is _really_ messing with her ability to function. 



 

Emma  _ needs  _ to get away from the house, and decides to go check on her shop. 

 

-

 

Emma walks in, the cheery bell a mild comfort. She walks among her flowers for a second and takes a deep breath, feeling calmer than she has in days. 

 

Of course, this is until she turns to look at Belle, who is wearing a very odd expression on her face. It’s not hostile, per se, but it is very wary, and definitely more chilly than she’s ever seen Belle, who is usually very cheerful and warm. 

 

“Belle? ….. Is everything okay?” 

 

She pauses, for a second. “I was hoping you could tell me what happened the other day, when you ran out like a bat out of Hell.” 

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have called. Henry fell and got hurt, which freaked Regina out a little, and I overreacted. I’m sorry to have worried you.” The lie makes her nauseous, her body rebelling at being asked to go against her Nature, but this is something she’s rather used to at this point so she tamps it down easily. 

 

This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. 

 

“See, the problem with that is that I know you were on the phone with Ruby, but when I asked her about it, she didn’t remember talking with you at all. She just kept saying how her morning had been ‘pleasant,’ which is odd, because she’s never used the word ‘pleasant’ in her life. She didn’t even remember talking with me that morning, because I had asked her to pick up chicken on the way home and she did not, which she’s never forgotten before. Seems a little off to me. So, would you like to tell me what’s really going on?” 

 

Well. 

 

Fuck. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright y’all this is basically a continuation of the last chapter, i broke it up because it was too long but i didn’t wanna leave y’all hanging. enjoy!! thanks so much for your response so far, it’s been amazing and y’all are rad

_ Emeleth is having a fascinating time in Italy, again. It’s the beginning of the Renaissance, and she is  _ loving  _ not being bored to death. The Dark Ages were just so dull.  _

 

_ She’s in a small village outside Florence, when she sees some Demons standing together off to the side of the town square. Emeleth blessedly is near a church, which cloaks her white aura, but her wings still stand out, so she finds a dark corner as near to the group of black figures as she dares. She pulls her wings in tight against her spine and presses against the wall of the church, pulling her wide hood over her hair and listening intently.  _

 

_ “Regaphiel has gone native, she has.”  _

 

_ “Devil’s Fall, I hate that bitch. Strutting around Hell like she owns the place. And why should she? Just because she found the Christ child? What else has she done, besides get close to these blasted humans?” It has the tired sound of an old complaint, one that has been voiced many times before.   _

 

_ The other demons nod in agreement. There’s five of them, three big and bulky mostly male figures and two lethal-looking women. Emeleth does not like the sound of this.  _

 

_ “So, we’re all agreed? The farm in an hour?”  There’s another murmur of agreement, and all the Demons walk off in different directions. Emeleth burrows deeper into her corner, looking for all the world like a poor beggar. This would not fool Demons with more than a pair of brain cells to rub together, but it would appear that Emeleth is lucky enough to be scraping the bottom of Hell’s barrel.  _

 

_ Emeleth waits for a half an hour to make sure they’re gone before emerging from her corner. Then, she finds an empty flask sitting on a nearby windowsill, fills it up with holy water from the font inside the church, and takes off towards the farm she knows Regaphiel is living in. It comes into view almost exactly an hour after the band had dispersed.  _

 

_ She has made one error tonight, and it will be almost fatal.  _

 

_ She had assumed that the attackers would be punctual.  _

 

_ - _

 

_ Regaphiel is extremely surprised to find herself surrounded by Demons, and blesses her lapse in attention. It’s been so long since she’s been attacked, she let her guard down, just a little, but it would appear that’s enough.  _

 

_ They fan out in a half circle around her, the four of them. They’re smirking in a way that would probably be intimidating to humans, but just feels fake to Regaphiel. In a few hundred years, these Demons might be called posers.  _

 

_ “Well, now. Fancy meeting you all here. How’s Hell been? Any news?” Her tone is flippant, but the tautness in her face underscores the danger that she’s in.  _

 

_ “Not yet, but I think there’s about to be some pretty big news. Master’s pet, taken down, how tragic.”  _

 

_ “Now, now, boys. We all know this won’t end well for you, so let’s just all go home and maybe I’ll forget this ever happened.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel has critically underestimated her opponents, however, and therefore doesn’t sense the fifth until she feels a sword slice through her gut from behind.  _

 

_ - _

 

_ Emeleth sees the black blade punch through Regina’s stomach and gives an inhuman cry of pure rage. She fires her bow from above, nailing the Demon who stabbed Regaphiel dead in the eye. He falls, discorporated instantly, and Emeleth alights just in front of Regaphiel’s body, her wings outstretched protectively. She grabs the flask at her hip, takes a long draught, and spits.  _

 

_ The holy water hits them as a fine mist. It is immediately accompanied by screams as their faces begin to melt. Taken off guard, they clutch at their rapidly pitting faces, and Emeleth is easily able to walk up to each of them and finish them off with a splash.  _

 

_ She’s always wanted to try that.  _

 

_ The whole thing is over in a flash, and Emeleth rushes to kneel next to Regaphiel.  _

 

_ She’s willing to admit that Regaphiel is more of a friend than she’s ever had, and the sight of her broken body makes Emeleth want to cry. She tries to heal the wound, but Regaphiel’s body is animated by darkness, and Emeleth’s light has little effect. She scoops her up gently and takes her into the farm. _

 

_ Over the next several days, Emeleth burns the Demon bodies, claims sole credit through a fabricated report to the Home Office that omits all mention of Regaphiel, and receives a commendation for ridding the world of five Demons. She keeps watch at Regaphiel’s side as the Demon heals slowly. _

 

_ Just because the world would be boring without her, of course.   _

 

Emma pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “Okay. Right. We’ll need cocoa for this conversation, for sure.” Emma is a firm believer in the power of hot cocoa in dealing with humans, mostly because her main source of meaningful human contact is with a five-year-old. “Hold on, one second, I’ll be right back.’’ She dashes out before Belle can say anything. 

 

Belle is more confused than angry, but that’s mostly because she is  _ extremely  _ confused. Dealing with Ruby that night had been scary, because Ruby was far too bubbly, far too cheerful, far too  _ artificial _ . It was unsettling, and Belle knew it had something to do with the look of pure terror and subsequent flight from her boss earlier the same day. 

 

That being said, Belle trusts Emma completely, as Emma is the kind of person who stops to pick up worms from the sidewalk, who paid off Belle’s niece’s college debt because Belle mentioned it offhand  _ once  _ (she is also a terrible liar. “Oh really? Did that get fixed? Wow, what a coincidence, we were just talking about it!”) _ ,  _ and the kind of person who rushes out to buy cocoa for uncomfortable conversations, which is objectively adorable. 

 

Emma comes back in a minute later, true to her word, and flips the sign on the door to “closed.” They go back into the tiny break room. 

 

-

 

“So, I’ve got something to say that you’re not going to believe,” Emma begins, sipping her cocoa. “The first thing you should probably know is that my name is not technically Emma Swan. It’s Emeleth. Or, to be more precise, its Emeleth, Guardian of the Northern Gate, Angel, First Class.” 

 

Belle sits back and Emma smooths the fabric of her shirt nervously. She’s never actually told this to a human, and she’s rather nervous about it. It’s right there in the employee handbook, page 12, rule 188: all revelations must be cleared Upstairs. Out of her many transgressions, though, including but not limited to  _ loving a Demon,  _ this one isn’t even close to the top of the list, which is both comforting and extremely  _ un _ comforting at the same time. 

 

“Angel.” Belle says. 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“...... Like, with wings and shit?” 

 

“Among other things, yes.” 

 

“Can I see?” 

 

Emma considers this, and decides that she’s in for a penny, in for a pound and all that. She stands up, extends her wings the length of the room, and with a ripple and a small shockwave of power, manifests them physically for the first time in centuries. 

 

Belle promptly faints. 

 

-

 

Forty minutes later, Belle comes to. She has been laid across the large beanie bag that one of the young part-time hands had asked for and Emma, who has a soft spot for her teenage helpers, bought immediately. There’s a plate of snacks and water on the table by her head, and she’s also covered with a very fluffy blanket that she’s quite sure has never been in this shop before. 

 

Emma is in the chair in the corner, speaking to Henry, judging from the soft expression and the fact that the topic would appear to be an in-depth critique of Eevee. Belle knows that Pokemon has been Henry’s latest obsession, which is adorable, because she used to be into Pokemon as a kid and it's fascinating to see it coming around to the next generation.  

 

Emma looks over, notices that Belle is awake, and ends the call with a soft “Love you more, sweetheart.” 

 

“How are you feeling?” She asks. 

 

“A little like I just got off a particularly spinny roller coaster.”    
  
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I haven’t manifested in centuries, I may have gone a little overboard. The energy was a shock to your system, but it’ll pass in a few minutes or so.” 

 

Belle supposes that makes sense, as much as anything about this whole day makes sense. 

 

“So is Regina an Angel, too?” 

 

Emma snorts. “No. Regina is a Demon. She’s called Regaphiel, Princess of Hell, among other things.” 

 

“Princess oF HELL? MY GIRLFRIEND WORKS FOR A  _ PRINCESS OF HELL?!”  _

 

_ “ _ Yep. But don’t worry about Phiel, she’s gone soft since that whole business with Jesus.” 

 

And  _ wow  _ is that a topic she wants to come back to later. 

 

“So Henry is, what? Is he an Angel too?” 

 

“No, actually, Henry is fully human. He was Regina’s idea, she found him abandoned on one of her spreading-evil-at-midnight walks, decided to raise him, and I had to help because, well, it’s kind of my deal, I guess.” 

 

Belle pauses. “So what does this have to do with Ruby?” 

 

Emma tells her about the demons who came to fetch Regina for some routine business, and how she wiped clean their memories from the morning but may have gone a tad bit too far, and really how she’s very sorry for that. 

 

“Why tell me? Why not just erase my memory too?” 

 

“I can’t really, not anymore. When things just happen, it’s right at the edge of your mind, and easy to take out. But after a couple hours, things settle and spread out, so it’s a lot harder to get just one memory without breaking something. I wouldn’t do that. Not to you, anyway.” 

 

Belle makes careful note of the qualifier at the end, but pushes on regardless. 

 

“Was Ruby ever in any danger?” 

 

Emma considers this for a moment. “Not really. Demons, and Angels actually, as a general rule, don’t mess with humans directly. It’s more hands off, we’re supposed to give you ideas and feelings, perform some minor miracles or background mischief every now and again. But we’re not really supposed to engage, and Demons haven’t laid an actual hand on humans since before the Flood. Sometimes pure demonic energy can mess with a human’s system and turn them mad, but it’s super rare, and Ruby’s spent enough time around a Demon that it would have happened already if it were going to happen at all.” 

 

For some reason, this is comforting to Belle, even though it probably shouldn’t be. 

 

“So why were you so scared?” Belle can clearly remember the expression on Emma’s face. It’s probably in the dictionary next to the word “terror.” 

 

“Ah. Well. The thing is, Regina and I are kind of living as……. outlaws, I guess, right now. We’re not even supposed to have talked to each other, much less be living together, much  _ less  _ raising a human together. I’m not really sure what the consequences would be, because no one’s ever done it before, but I don’t think they’re anything good. And Demons might be willing to break their hands-off principles with Henry, if it means hurting Regina.” 

 

“But why? Aren’t they on the same side?” 

 

“Yes and no. For one thing, it’d be a funny world if Demons went around trusting each other, it’s not in their Nature. For another, Demons see humans as animals, basically, a means to an end more than anything else. They don’t hate humans, they just disdain them, if that makes sense. Demon’s true enemies are each other, because they’re all trying to make a name for themselves. Regina did some things a long time ago to curry Satan’s favor, and now she’s one of the more disliked Demons in Hell.” 

 

“Huh.” 

 

Emma just shrugs and waits.

 

“So how did a Demon and an Angel end up together?” 

 

Emma freezes. “I, er, uh, um, what? What do you mean, together?” 

 

Belle raises one eyebrow. 

 

“Smooth, Em. Really.” 

 

“We’re not together.” 

 

“Sure.” 

 

“No, Belle, I mean it.” Emma sounds very resigned, and Belle realizes it’s the actual truth. 

 

“But you want to be?” 

 

Emma stares at her for a long moment, bent over in her seat with her elbows on her knees. “Yeah.” It’s a small sound, breathy and powerful. It’s the first time Emma’s said it out loud. 

 

“Which is a wholly different layer of bad, of course, because she’s a Demon, who I should hate, and also who definitely hates me, but she’s so pretty and cool, and her hugs smell like lavender, which is really pretty and very unexpected but I can’t say anything and I just realized myself and I’m going crazy, Belle, I swear I’m going insane, I just can’t stop jumping around her and I really just want to fly with her and i can’t do this, I just can’t” Emma’s pacing now and running her hands through her hair. 

 

Belle smirks. She’s relegated the whole Angel and Demon thing into one of those things that humans accept most of the time as a fact of living, like death or the fairness of life or the fact that concessions at the movies are 5.6 times as expensive as they should be. Her boss is an Angel. C’est la vie. 

 

But helping Emma with her crush, now  _ that’s  _ something she can really wrap her head around. 

 

“Whoa, wait, Em. Did you say that you  _ just figured this out? _ ” 

 

Emma stopped pacing. “Yeah, on Sunday, when she got back, Why?” 

 

“Ruby and I thought you were together for  _ years. _ ” 

 

“....... you have?” 

 

“Yes. Definitely. Since as long as I’ve known you, actually.” 

 

“What makes you think that?” 

 

Belle ticks off on her hand. “You spend most of your time with her, far as I can tell.” 

 

“We’re friends!” 

 

“You have a baby together.” 

 

“Lots of people platonically raise children together.” 

 

“They don’t, actually, and stop interrupting. You flirt constantly, you have a ton of inside jokes, and you look at her like she, personally, put the sun in the sky.” 

 

“She did actually. We were on the space team together. Sixth day, right before the Fall.” 

 

“I’m not sure if you’re fucking with me right now, and I have literally so many questions, but regardless. You know what I mean, you look at her like she’s your whole world.” 

 

Emma considers that and has no answers. 

 

“How do you deal?” 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“You. Humans in general.” Emma waves her hand vaguely. “How do you deal with being in love?” 

 

Belle laughs inwardly. “First time?” Emma nods. “Heart pounding, flushed cheeks, spouting nonsense when they walk into the room?” Emma nods again. 

 

“You don’t, really, I guess. You lean into it, and eventually it gets easier, when you realize you love each other and things settle down a little.” 

 

Emma looks sad again. “Well, then, I guess that’s a problem, because there’s no way she loves me back.” 

 

Belle laughs. “Emma, for an immortal being, you really are very stupid sometimes.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whatup my homies how y’all been? in the past two months i have quit my job, found a new job, bought a car, and moved across the united states, so it’s been a tad busy, sorry for not updating. but!! life has evened out again, so should be more regular now. enjoy!!

_ Regaphiel comes to slowly. Her first thought is that she’s very warm. Her second thought is that her stomach fucking hurts.  _

 

_ She tries to move, and immediately regrets it.  “Shit!”  _

 

_ That gets the attention of the Angel who is currently drawing on a sheet of parchment. She’s sitting on the earthen floor and resting up against Regaphiel’s bed, one leg bent up supporting the board and the other straight out.  _

 

_ “Hey, sleepyhead.” Emeleth gets to her feet. “How are you feeling?”  _

 

_ “Like I just got impaled, dear.”  _

 

_ “Makes a certain amount of sense, I guess.” Emeleth grins.  _

 

_ “What are you doing here?”  _

 

_ “Helping?”  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “I don’t need your pity, Angel.” 

_   
_ _ “You don’t have it, Demon.”  _

 

_ “Seriously, Angel, I’m fine on my own.”  _

 

_ “That might be more convincing if you could stand up.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel snarls. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you just let me die?”  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Emeleth shrugs. “Probably. But then what would I do for fun?” 

 

_ Regaphiel just stares. “But won’t you get in trouble for saving a Demon?”  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “Who has to know?” Emeleth smirks, and Regaphiel’s chest feels kind of strange. 

 

_ Must be the stab wound.  _

 

_ “Why did you save me?”  _

 

_ Emeleth tells her the story of meeting the demons by chance, and how she’s really very sorry for being late. Regaphiel just stares, trying to figure out her motivations.  _

 

_ “Yes, but why?”  _

 

_ Emeleth just shrugs. “I like your company, I guess.”  _

 

_ No one’s ever said that about Regaphiel before. It’s…….. weird.  _

 

_ - _

 

_ Over the next two weeks, Regaphiel heals, faster than a human would but far too slowly for her own liking. Emeleth is always there giving her just enough space to not be hovering. Regaphiel can’t figure it out, the game this Angel is playing, and she slowly comes to conclusion that Emeleth might actually be telling the truth. She actually wants Regaphiel to stick around.  _

 

_ How strange.  _

 

_ “Well, Angel.” Regaphiel steps up to her. “Looks like I’m fully healed.”  _

 

_ Emeleth grins. “I’m so happy to hear it.”  _

 

_ “.....So, you can go now.”  _

 

_ Emeleth considers this for a moment. “Do you want me to go?”  _

 

_ Well, now. There’s an interesting question.  _

 

_ She is rather used to the Angel, but she also feels a little… well. She comes to the rather horrifying conclusion that she might actually  _ like _ Emeleth, as a person, and doesn’t actually want her to leave. Well, not a person, but you get the point.  _

 

_ That just won’t do.  _

 

_ “Yes.”  _

 

_ Emeleth shrugs and walks away. “Okay. See you around, Demon.”  _

 

Regina had told Ruby about her own less-than-human side soon after Emma had told Belle. 

 

Ruby responded rather well to the whole idea, having gone through a serious teenage goth phase that left indelible marks on her ideas about angels, demons, and anything else supernatural or occult. 

 

Them being out had two main consequences for Emma. First, the four of them had become a lot closer, as Emma and Regina’s vague otherness had always been a subconscious barrier to more friendly relations. 

 

“Hey Emma, what was the Spanish Inquisition like?”  

 

This is the other consequence. Belle’s insatiable curiosity meant that any quiet moment together in the shop was spent talking over any historical moment Belle can think of. This actually isn’t so bad either, Emma thinks, if a little strange. The only person she’s ever been actually close to is Regina, and they’ve never talked like this, having both lived through much of the same things. It’s nice, talking about things. Maybe she should try it more often. 

 

“Hideous. The mobs were wild and violent, and there was a stink of malice around the edges that took me weeks to be rid of. I almost got burned at the stake myself, which wasn’t super fun.” 

 

Belle’s eyes boggle out of her head, but Ruby walks in a second later and she’s distracted enough to not finish her question. Ruby walks up to Belle and gives her a kiss over the counter, both of them smiling. 

 

“Hey Em!” Ruby says, grinning. 

 

“Hiya Rubes.” 

 

“Hey Em, Belle and I were thinking. Do you and Regina want to go out for girls night with us?” 

 

Emma freezes. “Girls night?” 

 

“Yeah! We’ll get dinner, hit some bars, and then go back to our place and watch bad romcoms. It’s gonna be a blast.” 

 

“What about Henry?”

 

“I had an idea about that! I’ve got some friends, Mary Margaret and David, they’d love to babysit. They’re perfect, Em, you’d love them.” 

 

Emma shrugs. “Uh. Yeah? Sure.” 

 

Ruby beams. “Great!” 

 

-

 

There’s a knock on the townhouse door. “I got it!” Emma calls, running up to the peephole and opening the door wide. 

 

“You must be Mary Margaret? And David?”

 

“Yep!” The pixie-haired woman responds. 

 

Emma steps aside and welcomes them in.

 

“Oh wow, your home is lovely.” 

 

“Thanks! We put a lot of work into it, and I’m so glad it turned out well.” Emma smiles and leads them to the dining room table. She’s incredibly excited for tonight, it’s just so…..  _ human.  _

 

She spends a few minutes making small talk with the couple, waiting. She likes them a lot, they feel genuine and warm, like the human equivalent of a clear summer’s day. 

 

She hears Regina come down the stairs and she turns to look.  Her heart stops. Regina looks absolutely stunning in a little black dress with dark red lips. She’s putting earrings in as she walks down the stairs, and Emma is reminded, again, how much she truly loves this woman. 

 

-

 

Spending time with Mary Margaret and David is a little like walking into a Sears ad from the fifties, Regina thinks. There’s something about them that makes you think they’re out of their own time, something that makes you think that David should be playing ball with his kid in the yard while Mary Margaret bakes an apple pie in a floral apron. 

 

It irks Regina, makes her fingers itch with the need to corrupt, to annoy, to needle, and it comes out of her in snarky comments that had earned her a sidelong reproachful glance from Emma. What can she say? Demon. 

 

Emma, of course, had taken to them immediately. Henry has too. He’s normally shy and reserved, but he had pulled David by the hand up to his room to show him his latest Lego creation, and David had gone along with enthusiasm. 

 

She is willing to admit that they are, probably, the perfect babysitters. Doesn’t mean she has to like it. 

 

-

 

Regina looks around Ruby and Belle’s apartment appraisingly. They had moved into a two-bedroom in the same building so that Belle could have a library, which meant that the living room was sans bookshelves. In their place were posters, art, and tchotchke shelves that sported an interesting mix of Belle’s soft pastel palette and Ruby’s preference for dark, dramatic colors. It was an odd mix, but it worked well. 

 

It reminds her a lot of her own home, actually, though hers was set against a modern colonial backdrop of hardwood floors and crown moulding, while this is built on an industrial base, with polished concrete and exposed black steel. 

 

She wanders back into the conversation. 

 

-

 

“I mean honestly, I don’t know what he expected, we were in a fucking gay bar.” Belle says. 

 

“Right? Like my buddy, my pal, my dude, this is not where you’re going to be able to score.” Ruby laughs. 

 

“And that one dude! Asking Emma and Regina if they were open, I mean honestly, where do they get the nerve? Plus, it’s not like he was even remotely on their level, I mean look at them.” 

 

“Yeah, what does that mean?” Emma asks absentmindedly. 

 

“What does what mean?” Belle is drunk, but she is sensible enough to realize that there’s a big warning label on this whole conversation. 

 

“If we were open? Open to what?” 

 

Belle looks at Ruby, who is no help. “In an open relationship.” 

 

“He thought we were in a relationship?” Emma asks, taken aback.

 

Belle notices Regina go still, and curses internally. One of these days, she’s going to figure this out, make them see what’s so fucking obvious to the rest of the world. 

 

But maybe she should wait until she can stand up without the world tilting to the side. 

 

“Who’s ready for the worst romcom I can find?” Belle asks. 

 

Regina looks down at Belle, confused. “Don’t you mean the best, dear?” 

 

Ruby shakes her head emphatically as Belle says “Absolutely not.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy guys and gals and non-binary pals. this chapter wraps up Part I, the introduction. less than ideal things are gonna happen to our heroes soon so here’s one last burst of fluff to hold y’all over. saccharine overload ahead. buckle up kiddos and call ur dentists cuz this’ll rot your teeth

_ The train of Regina’s elaborate silk dress swishes dramatically down the stone hallways of the Palazzo Medici. She’s flanked on either side by brightly colored tapestries and large frescoes, a testament to Cosimo de Medici’s prolific arts patronage. She’s been installed in the family as an advisor, a position that she’s taken up many times throughout the millennia as it gives her power and influence without undue attention. Regaphiel is enjoying Florence, having moved here shortly after her convalescence, and is having an amusing time masterminding Florence’s move away from its republican ideals towards an unconstitutional, de facto monarchy, with Cosimo as king. She’s destabilized so many governments. It’s her favorite hobby.  _

 

_ She sees familiar blonde hair in the hallway in front of her and stops short. Emma is walking next to Cosimo’s teenage son, Piero, whose sickly constitution doesn’t bode well for his ability to take on his father’s mantle, but she has high hopes.  _

 

_ “Angel!” Regaphiel exclaims, and Emeleth turns around, beaming brightly. She nods to Piero to keep going, and moves back towards the Demon.  _

 

_ “Regaphiel! What brings you to a place like this?”  _

 

_ “Oh, you know, dear. Just sowing some discord, destabilizing the republic, having a little fun. And yourself?”  _

 

_ Their relationship has changed since the weeks spent at the farm, more antagonistic and less malicious. It’s…… strange, but Regaphiel is rather enjoying it.  _

 

_ “I’m here as Piero’s tutor, I’m trying to convince him to move the city back to republicanism.”  _

 

_ “I’m actively working against you, dear, in the spirit of full disclosure.”  _

 

_ Emeleth shrugs. “May the best being win.”  _

 

_ “Quite.”  _

 

_ “Hey, would you like to come get some pasta with me? I’ve heard the kitchens have come up with a new way of cooking the swan meat that’s just to die for.”  _

 

_ “I will never understand why you actually eat, dear.”  _

 

_ Emeleth gasps, horrified. “Because it’s so good, come on, you have to try it!” She starts walking away, and Regaphiel follows, curious.  _

 

_ A few minutes later, they’re sitting at a rough wooden table in the kitchens. “Here, Regaphiel, I have a feeling you’re really going to like this.” She holds out a glass of wine.  _

 

_ Regaphiel takes a sip and looks shocked. “That’s disgusting.”  _

 

_ “I know! Humans think so too, yet they drink it anyway.”  _

 

_ She takes another sip and smirks. “It’s perfect.” _

 

_ Over the next several decades, they spend more and more time in Florence’s many restaurants and other venues of human enjoyment. As it turns out, the Medicis were perfectly capable of walking the wrong path on their own.  _

 

Emma is lying on her floor in a white tank top and jeans, her wings splayed out underneath her. Her headphones are on, the soft strains of dodie on loop. She’s thinking, as she so often does, of Regina. 

 

_ Am I alone, to look at her like that? Could it be wrong, when she’s just so nice to look at?  _

 

It’s just so unfair, Emma thinks. She has to live in this house, that was so big when they moved in but so small now. She’s constantly around Regina, and maybe if she could just have enough space to breathe then she could calm down, but how can she when her demon is around every corner? 

 

_ And I’ll be okay, admiring from afar. Because even when she’s next to me, we could not be more far apart.  _

 

She used to inspire awe and strike fear into the hearts of disbelievers. She was worshipped, mere mortals trembling in her presence. She was almost a God, damn it all, and yet here she is. Laying on her floor. Listening to indie music. 

 

Pining. 

 

_ And she means everything to me. Yes, she, means everything to me.  _

 

Emma sighs. 

 

There’s a knock at the door, and Regina’s head pokes in. Speak of the devil. 

 

“If you don’t start to get ready soon, you’re going to be late, Emma.”    
  
Emma looks at her phone. 

 

“Shit!” 

 

_ - _

 

Ruby is more nervous than she has ever been. Ever. She feels like she might simultaneously throw up and pass out, which could very well result in her death. She considers it strongly. 

 

She smooths out the scarlet fabric of her skirt. She’s wearing a ball gown that was custom made for her, it’s a long and full red satin skirt with a white lace bodice and Kate Middleton sleeves. She feels like a princess, which is not something that she ever thought she would enjoy. 

 

She was wrong. But maybe just for today. 

 

She’s glad for the red roses she’s holding, because it means that she doesn’t have to do anything with her hands, and she’s suddenly very worried about her hands. Does she hold them in front? Does she let them hang? does that look weird, Does she cross her arms? No that’s definitely not good—

 

She hears the opening notes to Pachelbel’s canon. That’s her cue. 

 

-

 

Regina leans over from her seat and whispers “Ruby looks like she might throw up” with an amused chuckle. 

 

Emma elbows her in the ribs. “Be nice.” 

 

“I’m a Demon, dear, I’ve never even heard of nice.” Regina smirks, and Emma rolls her eyes, watching Belle and Ruby get closer to the altar. They’re approaching from either side, Ruby from the right and Belle from the left. Belle is wearing a white dress covered with blue flowers at the top that slowly thin out around her hips, inverted from Ruby’s white on top look. The dresses are gorgeous, the colors rich and full, the whites bright and radiant. They’re both carrying full, brightly-colored bouquets and wearing flower crowns, deep red roses for Ruby and a mix of cornflower, delphiniums, and forget-me-nots for Belle. Belle’s auburn hair is shining in the sun, and both are wearing smiles so wide it could split their faces in two. They look ethereally beautiful, like two people who shouldn’t exist, and the whole ceremony feels….. well, magical. 

 

Emma wonders if it’s possible to be any happier for her two closest friends. But she also feels an ache, somewhere behind her breastbone, and wishes for the first time that she could be human. To be able to date, and marry someone she loves in a ceremony much like this one, surrounded by family and friends. To grow old, to fall asleep in someone’s arms, to feel what it’s like to be cold, or tired, or hungry. To be free of old allegiances. She glances surreptitiously at Regina, who looks stunning in a blood-red dress, and dreams. 

 

-

 

It’s a beautiful day a few miles outside of Boston, and the wedding has been going off perfectly, with just a little miracling help from two of it’s supernatural attendees. They’ve set up a large tent off to the side of the expansive glade, with a field in the center where everyone is dancing with abandon and children are running around underfoot, laughing and screaming in delight. It’s twilight, and the wedding party has slowly been getting less and less formal, with most people having shucked their shoes, abandoned jackets, and rolled up sleeves. 

 

Regina and Emma are sitting at a table in the tent, Regina sipping an expensive bordeaux and Emma tucking into her fourth plate of beef wellington and lobster tails. 

 

“Ma! Mom!” Henry runs up to them, red-cheeked and breathless. He’s wearing the black suit and purple vest that mark the wedding party, though his jacket, shoes, socks, and tie are missing. Somehow Regina doubts they’ll be found again. 

 

“Ma! Did I do a good job with the rings?” His r’s still sound a little like w’s and his front tooth is missing, resulting in what might just be the most adorable child who has ever walked the earth, in Regina’s completely unbiased opinion. 

 

“Yes, sweetheart, you were a perfect ring bearer, I’m so proud.” Emma presses a kiss to his sweaty hair. She’s resplendent in a gown that matches the ice-blue of her eyes. 

 

Mary Margaret and David, chatting happily about the service, sit down across from them as Henry runs off to play again. 

 

Ruby and Belle wander over a few minutes later and Emma leans in close to whisper “now?” 

 

Regina nods. 

 

They go over to the happy couple and offer their congratulations. 

 

“So, we got a little something for each of you.” Emma is bouncing up and down, she’s been looking forward to this for ages, and Regina knows she’s almost losing her mind with anticipation. 

 

Ruby and Belle say the obligatory “Oh you didn’t have to!” And “Oh wow! How thoughtful!” compelled by the inscrutable laws of polite society to pretend they don’t want gifts even though they very much do. Regina and Emma pass over two heavy envelopes. 

 

They open the envelopes, and Regina watches as their faces move from anticipation, to confusion, to disbelief. They were gifting them their respective shops, since Ruby and Belle were proprietors in all but name at this point. 

 

In this moment, Regina can fully appreciate Emma’s strong love of giving gifts, it’s just so….. satisfying. 

 

“You didn’t—“ “Oh shit—“ “NO WAY” “FUCK” they trade off making general noises of excitement, turning to each other in shock. 

 

Ruby jumps and embraces Regina, who staggers backwards a little. 

 

It’s important to note, here, that this is the first hug that Regina has had, well, ever, really. Except those from Emma, who doesn’t really count, and Henry, who hugs everyone all the time. It’s, well. It’s really nice actually, warm and comforting and  _ real.  _ She wraps her arms around Ruby and whispers “congratulations, dear,” in her ear. Standing there for an interminable moment, a little piece of darkness melts away. 

 

-

 

It’s a couple hours later, and the children have all been put to bed in the farmhouse hotel. The adults are getting steadily more drunk, and everyone has moved to the tamped-down grass circle surrounded by fairy lights that’s serving as a dance floor. Night has fallen, and the stars are out in full force. The night feels timeless, one of those moments in life that passes all too soon but feels like it will go on forever, one of those moments that make all the rest worth it. 

 

“Dance with me.” Emma holds her hand out to Regina, knowing she was playing with fire and not particularly caring. 

 

“I don’t dance, dear.” 

 

“Come on, Phiel. Just for tonight?” Emma tilts her head and gives Regina the puppy dog stare, and is surprised and delighted when it actually works. 

 

They move onto the dance floor, where a series of upbeat songs have been playing, and they dance. Emma knows many dance moves, having a general love of all of humanity’s joys, but she moves through them all with a careless indifference to theme. The gavotte moves into disco, which moves into a waltz, which moves into folk dancing in a haphazard mix of centuries and genres. This looks rather silly, but she’s so enthusiastic that no one really cares. Regina does  _ not  _ know how to dance, but she tries her best to keep up, laughing and having probably the most fun of her life. 

 

The music turns off quickly, and slowly the remaining revelers hear Shania Twain crooning “I just swear, that I’ll always be there…” It’s a cheesy choice, but perfect for the mood. 

 

Emma looks into Regina’s eyes, and holds out her hand as the guitar starts. She takes it hesitantly, and they move into a sort of twirly waltz. It’s beautiful and perfect, and Emma’s every nerve is on fire, trying to preserve this moment forever. 


	11. Chapter 11

_Regaphiel is walking through the streets of Basque on a muggy summer’s night in the beginning of the seventeenth century. All around her, there are men shouting and running, as they move towards the town center, and there’s a stink of evil in the air like a fog. It used to excite her, but now it just makes her tired._

 

_She makes it to the town center, feeling a vague sense of duty to generally help move things towards an evil outcome, when she sees Emeleth being marched past in chains._

 

_Her heart stops. They’re taking her into the church to be tried, with the mob screaming for blood. Regina knows that the trial is a sham, and Emeleth will be brought out in just a few moments to be burned at the stake they’re already preparing._

 

_She can’t let that happen. Without taking a moment to think about why she’s actually going to save an Angel, she edges into the church. She doesn’t think about the fact that this could get her fired. A demonic firing is decidedly less pleasant than a human one as it tends to involve the rather painful application of actual fire._

 

_“Shit! Mierdo!” Her feet are burning on the consecrated ground, like standing on a hot beach barefoot. She hops lightly from foot to foot and slowly edges around the nave until she gets up as close as she can without being spotted. She keeps shuffling her feet and swears in every language she knows as she watches the proceedings, leaning heavily on a railing._

 

_“Emelia, you have been accused of witchcraft of the most unholy order. Several witnesses have claimed to see you perform acts of magic, including fixing a child’s broken leg and causing plants to grow at fantastic rates. In addition, you are accused of inciting the young women of the village to immorality and depravity. Have you anything to say for yourself?”_

 

_Regaphiel rolls her eyes as she shifts from foot to foot. The middle of a witch hunt and the idiot is going around doing miracles in plain sight._

 

_“Fixing a broken leg? Causing plants to grow? You telling me that’s a crime now? And all I did was teach the girls to read, same as the boys are doing.”_

 

_“Aha! So you do not deny the accusations. I hereby sentence you to death for your crimes.”_

 

_Regaphiel rolls her eyes again. Dumbass._

 

_She waits for the moment when the Emeleth is gagged and the hood is pulled over her head and the lawman in the white wig has disappeared in the apse of the church, then waves her hand and switches the two, with the magistrate being now clothed in Emeleth’s dress and being led out into the square to be burned. He starts kicking and screaming wildly, but no one pays him any attention._

 

_Regaphiel hops back across the transept of the church to the chapel, where she steers the extremely surprised Emeleth out the door to freedom and cooler feet, admonishing her the whole way about “idiot Angels not having the common sense God gave a goose.” She says lots of other, less polite things that I’ll leave to your imagination._

  


“Mom!” Henry calls as he clomps down the stairs of the townhouse, his socked feet sliding on the slippery wood at the bottom and narrowly missing the hall table. “MOM!” He yells again. 

 

Henry is eleven, and his body has grown too quickly for his brain to catch up, so he’s a little awkward and gangly,  moving like he’s constantly surprised at what his own limbs are doing. 

 

“Don’t shout, Henry.” Regina steps out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. 

 

“Do you know where my soccer uniform is?” 

 

Regina sighs. “Did you happen to check in your dresser, which is a storage device usually used for, among other things, uniforms?”   
  
“Mom, I swear it wasn’t there.” 

 

“I’ll come up and take a look, Henry, but if I find it immediately because you didn’t actually look, then it’s no dessert tonight.” 

 

Henry looks sheepish. “....... I’ll check again.” 

 

“Good thought.” He bounds up the stairs again, making more noise than should be possible. Emma comes around the corner. 

 

“I swear that boy couldn’t find his own feet with two hands and a flashlight.” Emma laughs lightly. 

 

There’s a muffled thunk and a shouted “found it!” coming from upstairs, and both mothers roll their eyes. He reappears and stumbles down the stairs again, his backpack thrown casually over one shoulder. 

 

“Ready to go?” Emma asks. He nods. 

 

He hops out of the house, throwing a “Bye mom! Love you!” over his shoulder as Emma follows after him. 

 

Regina watches him disappear fondly, then settles down on the couch to do the crossword with a cup of strong coffee. 

 

-

 

Henry is doodling on his math homework while the teacher lectures about the American Revolution. His fifth grade class is antsy, it’s near the summer and the change of seasons brings with it a restless urge to get outside. It’s also Friday, near the end of the day, which doesn’t help matters much. 

 

He idly wonders what middle school will be like. He’s going to leave Park, which he’s been at since he was small, and go to the Milton Academy. He heard they have real lockers and everything is going to be harder. But he’s also excited to have different classes, and maybe meet some new people. Colton will be going with him, which is awesome. 

 

Ms. Field’s phone rings, disturbing the calm of the classroom. She picks up and mutters “Yes. Okay………. sure.” 

 

“Henry?” 

 

“Yes ma’am?” 

 

“Get your things and go to the office. Your grandfather is waiting for you.” 

 

Henry wasn’t aware that he had a grandfather, or any family, really, outside of his moms, and he tells Ms. Fields as much. 

 

Ms. Fields tilts her head and looks at him. “Huh. Well, then. Why don’t you go on down to the office and get this sorted out. Make sure you come back if it’s a mistake.” 

 

Henry nods. “Okay.” 

 

He stows his notebook and pens in his desk, then gets up and heads to the door. The school is tiny, the office is only a few score feet down the hall, and Henry ambles along. 

 

Someone snaps their fingers behind him and he’s instantly asleep, crumpling to the ground softly, the world going black. 

 

-

 

Jane Fields picks up the phone on her desk a few minutes later and dials zero. 

 

“Front Office, Park Street School. How may I help you?” 

 

“Hey Julio, did Henry get off okay?” 

 

“Yep. Left a few minutes ago.” 

 

“He said it was a mistake, that he didn’t have a grandfather, that’s why I’m asking.” 

 

“Oh, yes, Helen misheard. It was his _god_ father.” 

 

“Oh, gotcha. Okay! Have a good weekend!” 

 

“You too.” 

 

-

 

Julio hangs up mechanically and stares straight ahead. 

 

Behind the slack-eyed secretary, Rumbove smiles and waves his hand. Then he strolls out of the school, twirling his vintage pocket watch and whistling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it may be appropriate at this point to let all y’all know that I’m a sucker for happy endings, and this story will most definitely have one....
> 
> .....eventually.


	12. Chapter 12

_ Emeleth spots Regaphiel at their customary table in a cafe in central London, and a small smile appears. She sprawls in the seat opposite the demon. Her hair has been cut short and she was wearing a richly embroidered tunic and hose in the height of men’s fashion at the time.  _

 

_ “Phiel! It’s been forever.”  _

 

_ “Angel, I see we’re embracing our masculine side today.”  _

 

_ “Meh, figured I’d give it a shot. They’re so touchy about this stuff down here.”  _

 

_ “Well you’re not exactly nailing the masculine form, dear.” Regina says, gesturing to Emeleth’s highly visible curves. “But I'll admit the look suits you.”  _

 

_ “Thanks!” Emeleth smiles. “So Phiel, I was thinking.”  _

 

_ “A terrifying notion, really.”  _

 

_ Emeleth continues on regardless of the interjection. “Let’s go to the new world.” _

 

_ “The new world? But why? Isn’t it so….. uncivilized?”  _

 

_ “Oh, come on, you know better than to listen to humans, they’re always at least a little wrong. And besides, we’ve been everywhere in the Christian world fifty times. I’m so boooooooooored.”  _

 

_ “You’re always bored, dear.”  _

 

_ “Yeah! Because we’ve been everywhere fifty times” She enunciates slowly. “Please, Phiel? I’m hearing some fun rumors of unrest, we could be in for a good war soon.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel sighs. “Maybe I could use a change of pace. And I do like wars.”  _

 

_ Emeleth beams.  _

 

_ - _

 

_ Regaphiel ducks as a musket ball whizzes above her head.  _

 

_ “Why did I let you bring me here, again?” she grouses.  _

 

_ They’re both dressed in men’s clothes, faded navy uniforms with worn black boots. They’re carrying supplies, Emeleth is in charge of the bandages and water and Regaphiel is handing out ammunition and gunpowder. The streets of New York are lined with rebels, each in homespun clothes and carrying farmer’s muskets. They’re facing off against the Redcoats, and things are not going well.  _

 

_ “Come on, Phiel! This is fun!” A scarred veteran looks over at Emeleth’s perky expression and frowns heavily.  _

 

_ “I’m not sure fun is the right word, Angel. We could killed, or worse.”  _

 

_ “Oh do be quiet. We’re immortal, stop worrying so much.” Emeleth jumps to the side, narrowly missing another ball. She waves her hand and the musket volley stops from the other side, a freak rainstorm having ruined all their powder.  _

 

_ Regaphiel follows the Angel’s footsteps. “I said I’d follow you, Angel. I never said anything about not complaining.”  _

  
  


Emma walks into Black Soul after a fine morning walking the city and meeting Regina at their favorite spot for lunch. Ruby and Belle are behind the counter, and Emma is completely unsurprised to also see Mary Margaret and David at the corner table that used to have Regina’s name stamped on it. They’ve become staples at the shop, especially in the months since they had a son. The coffee shop offers a welcome reintroduction of adult company while also being close enough to their apartment to be minimum effort. 

 

“Hey, M&M, David, how’re things?” 

 

Baby Neal, who is bouncing happily on David’s knee, holds his arms out expectantly and Emma takes him easily. 

 

“Oh, you know. I haven’t slept in months and I’ve forgotten what it’s like to wear anything other than yoga pants, but it’s all good.”    
  
Emma laughs. “Yeah, I remember those days. I miss it, sometimes, because things are so simple and they’re just so goshdarn cute, but I remember that I couldn’t even recall what being well-rested felt like.” This is mostly true, since Emma has never needed rest and therefore has never known what its like to feel well-rested. She’s been working on her small talk, for some reason all the parents she knows really love making small talk, which isn’t something she’s ever really needed as an Angel. It’s fascinating. 

 

-   
  
Regina walks in the shop, and the whole gang smiles and waves. 

 

Regina, being a Demon, isn’t really used to positive feedback regarding her arrival. She kind of, really, loves it. 

 

Regina’s phone rings, and sees that it’s Sarah Fletcher. Sarah is the mom of a Henry’s best friend Colton, a boy of ten whose flaming red hair and wildly animated personality clashes strongly with Henry’s quiet, bookish disposition. For some reason, though, they had got along like a house on fire ever since their first day of kindergarten, when Colton took Henry’s toy and Henry took it back and hit him over the head with it. Colton is right in the middle of five siblings, and therefore spends almost as much time at Henry’s place as he does his own, just to get a little peace and quiet. Emma and Regina don’t mind a bit. 

 

Sarah is a round-faced, cheerful woman who sometimes takes Henry to soccer practice after school, since the boys are on the same team. 

 

“Hi Sarah,” Regina says pleasantly. 

 

“Hi Regina! Hey, no big deal or anything, but I just wanted to say, I would really appreciate a heads up the next time Henry gets picked up early.” 

 

All the blood drains from Regina’s face. 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“Well, Colton says Henry got picked up by his grandfather, and that’s totally okay and all! I get it, plans change, I would just really appreciate a heads up next time!” 

 

“What do you mean, Henry got picked up by his grandfather?” Regina’s tone has gone shaky and cold, and the group quiets quickly, sensing that there is something very much amiss. Emma quietly passes Neal back to his parents and shifts closer to Regina. 

 

“That’s what Colton said, right before school got out?” 

 

Regina is dead silent. 

 

“Regina? Is everything okay?” 

 

A second later, her phone falls to the ground, the shatter of glass echoing like a crack of thunder in the quiet shop. 

 

-

 

“Ma’am, I know this must be difficult, but I really need you to answer the question.” The policeman is a dour-faced detective in a cheap suit, and they’ve been here for the better part of an hour, answering the same questions phrased slightly differently each time. 

 

“You  _ know _ this must be  _ difficult _ for me? My boy is out there, somewhere, and you _ incompetent jackasses _ are sitting here patronizing me rather than getting out there and DOING YOUR DAMN JOBS” Regina knows, without a doubt, that Henry was taken by a demon, and therefore knows that these policemen will be of no help, but it makes her feel the slightest bit better to let off some steam. Emma sits stony-faced as Regina continues to berate the policeman. 

 

The afternoon had passed in a fog of unfocused chaos. They had run to the school and demanded answers, interrogating Henry’s teacher until she had broken down crying. She was a young teacher, and would feel incredibly guilty about this for years to come, despite the fact that she didn’t actually do anything wrong. The CCTV didn’t show anything, not even Henry in the hallway, even though they knew he had exited the classroom, which meant that someone had wiped the footage. At some point, the police had been called, and they showed up in a flurry of red and blue. Regina and Emma didn’t want to be here, but also couldn’t  _ not  _ be here, since it would look surpassingly strange for human parents to avoid the police. 

 

After a few minutes, Emma says “enough,” and snaps her fingers, putting the policeman into a trance. “You have what you need. We’re done here.” She snaps her fingers again and steers Regina by the elbow out of the worn precinct building and back home. 

 

“Regina, we’re going to find him.” 

 

“Don’t give me that, Emma, you don’t know that.” 

 

“I  _ do.”  _

 

Regina sinks to the floor. Emma sits next to her, tears silently running down her cheeks, and says, “We’re going to find them, Regina, I swear to God we will. And when we do?

 

“We’ll kill them all.” 

 

-

 

Henry comes to slowly from a deep sleep. It takes him a while to piece together what his eyes were trying to tell him, but when he does he bolts upright and scrabbles back towards the corner of the bed he’s in, heart beating fast. He’s in an unfinished, unadorned cinderblock room with black iron bars cutting it in half. On his side, there’s just a toilet and a bed, which is surprisingly comfortable, if a little lumpy. He’s got the clothes on his back, a pillow, and two of those old, pilling felt blankets with sateen edges that every house has but no one can clearly remember buying. 

 

On the other side of the room, there’s a grey metal door and a plywood desk with an ancient computer that looks like it hasn’t been used since the fall of the Soviet Union. And there’s also his backpack, jacket, and soccer bag piled next to the desk. 

 

Henry jumps. His backpack! If he can get to it, it might still have his phone. 

 

He slides down off the bed and over to the bars. He fits as much of his shoulder through as he can, straining his arm as far as it can go. 

  
If he can just…..  _ reach _ ……


	13. Chapter 13

_ This revolution is dull.” Emeleth sighs against the back of an earthwork berm.  _

 

_ “Honestly, Emeleth. Is there anything that is exciting to you anymore?”  _

_   
_ _ Emeleth stares, the question hitting a little too close to home for comfort.  _

 

_ “I have an idea.” Emeleth deflects. Regaphiel narrows her eyes but lets the topic slide.  _

 

_ “What’s that?”  _

 

_ “A friendly wager.”  _

 

_ “A bet on what?”  _

 

_ Emeleth thinks for a moment. “You have to pick one thing that you think will turn the tide of this war and do it. I have to figure out what you’re doing and stop you in time.”  _

 

_ “Your terms are rather…. vague.”  _

 

_ Emeleth grins. “Therein lies the excitement!”  _

 

_ “What is the prize?”  _

 

_ “If I win, you have to buy me dinner, at the place of my choosing, every day for a month. If you win, I have to find ten bottles of wine for you, no matter how rare.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel considers. “Deal.”  _

 

_ - _

 

_ Emeleth rides hard to match the pace of the black mare in front of her. She’s upgraded her uniform, her coat is a finely dyed wool with gleaming buttons, and she’s even got a tricorne hat to match. The mare turns sharply and Emeleth pulls hard to get her horse to follow. They’re galloping through Tarrytown, just north of New York City, trying to intercept a spy before West Point is lost.  _

 

_ The rider she’s following cuts in front of a carriage, causing the carriage horses to rear and whinny. Emeleth dismounts easily and throws open the carriage door, grabbing the lanky frame of John Andre and pulling him bodily into the muddy street. She shackles his hands and searches his belongings, finding the plans for West Point in an envelope with an English address.  _

 

_ She grins. She can’t wait to tell Regaphiel.  _

 

_ - _

 

_ Emeleth waltzes in the front door of Regaphiel’s uptown New York brownstone, whistling a happy tune and completely ignoring the poor butler who has long gotten used to her barging in.  _

 

_ “Phiel” she sing-songs. “You owe me dinner at Fraunces.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel looks up from her newspaper. “You didn’t.”  She groans, loudly and dramatically.  _

 

_ “I did! John Andre is meeting his untimely end as we speak.”  _

 

_ “Devil’s fall, do you comprehend the lengths I went to for this plan? I had to befriend Arnold’s wife for  _ months, _and she is the silliest flirt I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”_

 

_ Emeleth is wearing a shit-eating grin.  _

 

_ “You’re insufferable, Angel.”  _

 

_ ”I do believe I did warn you, Phiel. I seldom lose a bet when food is on the line.”  _

 

_ “So you did. Well, shall we?”  _

 

_ Emeleth offers her arm like the proper gentleman she’s pretending to be, and they stroll outside towards downtown and Emeleth’s winnings.  _

 

It’s later that night when there’s a polite knock on the door of the townhouse, and Emma and Regina look at each other warily. Emma shrugs and moves soundlessly up to the peephole, opening it when she sees that it’s just Belle and Ruby. 

 

They come in for hugs, which aren’t unwelcome, and sit there with the sort of sympathetic, bordering-on-pity look that you often see in hospitals and funeral homes. They brought food, too, and coffee. 

 

Regina’s never really understood why humans bring each other food in times of crisis like it can single-handedly cure disease and bring people back from the dead, but it’s kind of nice to have someone who, well. Who cares. 

 

“How are you holding up?” Belle asks, her hand on Regina’s elbow. 

 

“That’s a rather silly question, dear.” 

 

“Yeah” she sighs. “I know.” 

 

They all move to the dinner table as one. 

 

“Have the police made any progress?” 

 

“Not that we know of. They are singularly unhelpful, and the detective was a bit of a dick, actually.” 

 

“Can you track his phone?” 

 

“He turned it off in school, and it hasn’t been turned back on yet.” 

 

“So do you think this is a downstairs thing?” 

 

“Undoubtedly, dear.” 

 

They nod, out of questions to ask and really unsure how to deal with a supernatural kidnapping. 

 

The four adults sit in silence for an interminable length of time, sipping coffee and munching on the cookies Ruby made. 

 

Regina’s phone is sitting on the table and it lights up with Henry’s name and picture. Everyone at the table jumps, Emma knocking over a cup of coffee. Regina slices her finger on the shattered glass of her phone in her haste to answer the call. 

 

“Henry!” 

 

“Moms!” He looks scared but whole, and their hearts leap. 

 

“Henry, sweetheart, we’re coming. Have they hurt you?” 

 

He shakes his head. “I’m scared.” 

 

“I know, baby boy, but listen, honey, we’re on our way and we love you  _ so much  _ sweetheart, it’s going to be okay, I promise. I need you to focus for a second, can you do that?” 

 

He nods. Emma is already on her phone, using his location to get an address. 

 

“How many people have you seen?” 

 

“Just one, she brought me a peanut butter sandwich. She gave me the creeps.” 

 

Regina’s heart sinks as her fears are confirmed.

 

“Do you know where you are?” Another shake. “Can you hear anything?” He shakes his head again, then looks up and says “Oh shit they’re coming” and sticks his phone in his pocket, still on the call. 

 

Regina watches with her heart in her throat as Rumbove walks in. He looks at the phone in Henry’s pocket and continues, and Regina thanks her lucky stars that Demons still don’t know a whit about modern technology. 

 

“Well, well, you must be Henry.” 

 

Henry stays stonily silent. 

 

“Now, now, dearie, no need to be rude. I just wanted to come in and see what kind of child can tempt a Demon. No need to be nervous.” 

 

Henry pipes up. “Demon?” 

 

Regina feels her blood run cold. They had not told Henry yet, due to the fact that they really weren’t sure how to have that conversation. “Ah yes, sweetheart, just so you know your mothers are immortal beings and one is actually from the deepest pits of Hell. Okay have a good day at school!” 

 

Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. 

 

Rumbove giggles, twisting it into a dark and malicious sound. “Oh this is precious. You don’t  _ know.”  _

 

“You’re— you’re lying.” 

 

“I’m not, dearie. We’re going to bring your  _ mom _ here very soon, and when we do, I want you to ask her just how many souls she’s sent to Hell, can you do that for me dearie?” 

 

“Stop saying lies abou—”

 

The connection cuts out. Henry’s phone died. 

 

-

 

Emma and Regina are immediately moving towards the front door, when Ruby calls “wait!” 

 

They don’t listen. 

 

She runs up to them and grabs their elbows, eliciting a snarl from Regina and a glare from Emma. 

 

“Get your hands off me, I’m going to get my son.” 

 

“Just wait, for one second,  _ please _ .” 

 

“If you think we’re going to leave him there for on _ e second longer than necessary—” _

 

“Just,  _ hold on goddammit.  _ Didn’t you hear what he said? ‘Your mother will be joining us shortly.’ Isn’t that weird?” 

 

Belle interjects, “Yeah. Either he knows you can track him, in which case you’re walking into a trap, or he’s going to send you some sort of ransom, in which case you should probably be here or he’ll know you’re coming.” 

 

Emma stops short. “Yeah, I…….. guess you’re right.” 

 

“I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you, but we need to be smart about this. Make a plan.” Belle says softly, but firmly. 

 

They spend the next hour or two around the dinner table, formulating. 


	14. Chapter 14

_Regaphiel frowns as the post comes for yet another week without word from or about Emeleth. It’s been almost two decades since she’s seen the angel, she was recalled to the Continent in the early nineties for a long assignment regarding the French Revolution and all the messiness that came after. It wasn’t unusual for her to go years without seeing Emeleth, for her job could be rather demanding, and a few years means little when you’ve got more than five thousand of them to your name._

 

_The problem is that she’d been back stateside for almost two years now, and she’d been dropping letters in their usual places every week since, but nothing was coming back._

 

_It had been centuries since they’d been out of contact this long, and something itched at the back of Regaphiel’s mind, a deep feeling of unease that had grown with every passing season. She couldn’t help worrying that something was deeply amiss._

 

_Even before she left, her usually cheerful friend had been more withdrawn. Regaphiel hadn’t really worried about it at the time--Emeleth’s temper had always been a little uneven, as prone to vivid ebullience as a more somber and solemn manner. But, looking back, Regaphiel wonders if she should have read more into the years of the Revolution. Were her moods more wild than normal? Or is Regaphiel making too much of this?  She shakes her head, unsure._

 

_She stands abruptly, unable to take the doubt anymore. She walks up the stairs of her Washington brownstone home, and changes into her favorite travelling clothes, a deep red shirt over white trousers and black boots. She marches out the door, barking to her butler that she might be gone for a while._

 

_Her butler merely sighs and continues polishing the silver plate._

 

_-_

 

_Regaphiel decides to start at the address that Emeleth was staying before she left. Human memory is terribly fallible, but Regaphiel is hoping the old landlord might have an idea of where to start._

 

_She walks up to the brick house, and is hit with the familiar feel of Emeleth’s white aura. She’s spent so much time in the field of that energy that she would recognize it anywhere, like the feel of the well-worn cover of a favorite book, or the smell of a childhood home._

 

_She stops short, not expecting the angel to actually be here, and her heart lifts for a moment. It sinks again just a second later, as she realizes the Angel’s energy is more dim and a little off than normal, like the pallor of sickness on skin. Regaphiel takes a proper look at the building and notices the loose mortar, overgrown yard, and creeping underbrush._

 

_The knot in her stomach tightens and she throws open the door, not bothering to knock. The air feels stale, and there’s a thick coat of dust everywhere. Regaphiel follows the aura until she reaches the back bedroom, where Emeleth is sprawled out, fast asleep._

 

_The knot loosens a little at seeing the familiar face. Regaphiel goes over to the bed and shakes Emeleth’s shoulder, pushing some black energy into the angel as a shock to her system when the shaking doesn’t work. Emeleth comes to slowly, bleary-eyed and lethargic. “Phiel? What are you doing here?”_

 

_“Looking for you, dear, of course.”_

 

_Emeleth sits up a little. “What year is it?”_

 

_Regaphiel raises one eyebrow. “1810.”_

 

_Emeleth starts. “Really? Hm.”_

 

_Regaphiel puts two and two together. “Have you been sleeping….. for twenty years?”_

 

_Emeleth shrugs and says nothing._

 

_“But, why? What could possibly drive someone to waste away that much time?”_

 

_Emeleth’s face hardens and she gives another shrug._

 

_“You must talk to me, Angel. What’s going on?”_

 

_“Oh, must I? Really? And why is that?” There’s a note of viciousness in her voice, and Regaphiel starts backwards, surprised._

 

_“Just go, Regaphiel.”_

 

_“No. Tell me what is wrong.”_

 

_“Why do you care?”_

 

 _Regaphiel considers for a moment. “I… I don’t.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _This is a lie, of course, but we won’t call her on it just yet._

 

_Emeleth’s mouth is set in a thin line. “Of course you don’t, Demon. You’re not even able to care.” Her tone is mean, and Regaphiel feels fiery anger behind her breastbone._

 

_“Just leave. Now.”_

 

_Regaphiel looks at her for a long moment before twirling on her heel and walking away._

 

_“Fine.”_

######  Emma alights in a clearing in the Green Mountain National Forest, just north of the border between Vermont and Massachusetts. She’s about five miles from where Henry’s phone pinged, and she settles in a nearby tree. She’s watching Regina’s location on her phone, and her whole body tenses, waiting. 

-

 

Regina is in the back of a Rolls-Royce with blacked out windows, being driven by a silent chauffeur up front. Belle had been right, not long after the phone call, a stone-faced courier had rung the doorbell with a ransom demand for Regina. It was a relatively unimaginative note, with a place and time, the usual demand to come alone, and the usual threat of bodily harm to the hostage should Regina fail to carry out the instructions. It was all very standard crime drama stuff, and Regina couldn’t decide if the lack of creativity was an ill omen or a good one. 

 

Not a single word has been spoken in this whole affair. She had gone to the right place at the right time, and a low-level Demon in a pressed suit had come up, held the door open for her, and waited, and now she was being driven out, past the city, past the universities with their red brick and grassy quads, past the affluent suburbs dotted with mansions and expansive lawns, past the country farms, and now into this never-ending forest. 

 

She hopes and prays with all her might that today will work out. 

 

It has to, it just _has_ to. 

 

-

 

Regina’s car pulls up to the front of the low, nondescript cinderblock structure, and she swallows. 

 

Game time. 

 

She puts on her best poker face and waits for the chauffeur to come around and open the door for her. Then she gets out and struts down the lane, towards the front door. 

 

It opens dramatically as she nears, and she smirks. She always did love a flair for the dramatic. 

 

“Dearie! How nice of you to join us.” Rumbove’s manic giggle fills the atrium. It’s an old building with an institutional feel, worn linoleum and faux wood accents everywhere. The pale salmon color on the walls places it last used during the seventies, and the plaque under the abandoned receptionists desk reveals the original purpose to be a national park office center. It was left and forgotten, one of the many relics that just never quite got torn down. 

 

-

 

Emma steals through the backdoor, leading down into the basement. She dispatched the lone Demon guard with an easy swing of the wicked-looking machete at her hip. She checks every door, until she finally comes across the cell that Henry is in. 

 

“Ma!” He jumps up, his hands going to the bars, and her heart leaps into her throat. 

 

“Henry!” 

 

She unlocks the door with a quick miracle and opens it wide, her son bounding into her arms. She hugs him tight, running her hands over his hair, then pulls back. “What was your favorite movie when you were a toddler?” 

 

“Mom?” 

 

“Answer the question, sweetheart.” 

 

“Cars.” 

 

“What’s the stuffed animal you keep under your pillow?” 

 

“My cat, Norbert.” 

 

She smiles and hugs him again. “I’m sorry, kiddo, but I had to ask.” 

 

“Ma? What’s going on? Where am I, why —“ 

 

“Henry, look at me.” She looks directly into his eyes, and says “I will explain everything, but first we need to get out of here, and to do that I need you to focus. Can you do that?” 

 

He nods, gulping hard. 

 

“Good. Leave your things. I need you to walk directly behind me, your hand on my shoulder, and do exactly what I say, you got that?” 

 

He nods again. 

 

“Okay. I love you so much sweetheart.” She hugs him quickly one last time, and then they go back out into the hallway, back the way she had come, her unease growing with every step. 

 

It’s just…. too easy. 

 

-

 

“Rumbove. I’d say it’s nice to see you, but then I’d be lying.” 

 

“Now, now, dearie, no need for that, we’re just having a friendly chat.” 

 

“Our kind doesn’t have friends, Rumbove.” 

 

“No? Then what, might I ask, are you doing with a _child?”_

 

“An experiment, nothing more.” She says flippantly. “I was testing the idea that it’s easier to get them as children, corrupt in the bud, so to speak.” 

 

“Oh? Curious, eh? I’m all for this little experiment, dearie, but i find it rather _curious_ myself that the boy seems rather….. _uncorrupted.”_

 

She shrugs dismissively. “It’s early yet.” 

 

“Oh, dearie. How stupid do you think we _are?”_

 

-

 

Emma is behind Rumbove, in the long hallway leading out to the back parking lot, when she hears those words, and a cold fear trickles down her spine, her instincts trying to tell her something but her brain not quite catching up. She fires the bow she’s been holding taut, but he twists easily, giggling. 

 

He snaps his fingers, and two demons come out of the wings of the building, They’re followed by two more, and then two more, then two more, until a dozen Demons are standing in a two arcs, with Rumbove at the center. He’s wearing a shit-eating grin. 

 

It hits Emma with a start, what’s been bugging her since she got here. She can’t sense them, not even Rumbove. She should be able to feel their auras, but there’s nothing. 

 

“Well now, Angel.” The term, which has a ring of endearment when Regina uses it, sounds sour and wrong in his voice, and she winces. 

 

“How nice of you to join us! It’s really a party now. And you've brought the boy to us, how lovely.” 

 

Regina has knocked out one of the demons with a square kick to the face, but the others advanced on her too quickly and she’s being held by four of them. Her eyes lock with Emma’s, wild and desperate. 

 

Emma’s heart is racing, and she can barely think straight. If she leaves now, she might be able to get Henry out of here and to safety, but the idea of leaving Regina makes her feel like someone is grabbing her heart and squeezing hard. 

 

She makes a decision. 

 

Grabbing Henry’s hand, she sprints out the door and onto the cracked pavement. Henry’s shorter and decidedly human legs are struggling, so she grabs him by the scruff of the neck and swings him into a piggyback ride without breaking stride. She runs flat-out, her every muscle straining. 

 

“Hang on, kid!” He grabs on tight, his arms crossed around her neck and his legs wrapped tightly at her hips. He buries his face in her hair and squeezes for all he’s worth. 

 

She is exceedingly glad she doesn’t actually have to breathe. 

 

-

 

Regina watches them fly out the door and her heart loosens, just a tiny bit. 

 

“Get them.” Rumbove says, and four demons start to run, out the door and up in the air before she can blink. 

 

Rumbove turns back to her. “Now, now, dearie, what to do with you?” 

 

-

 

Emma’s wings unfold and she beats them furiously, just barely clearing the tree line. She’s unsteady, at first, trying to adjust to the extra weight on her back, but she makes it and stabilizes. 

 

“Henry! Are they following us?” 

 

He looks back. “Yeah! Four!” 

 

Emma curses under her breath and materializes her bow in one hand. 

 

Twisting in midair, she fires in one smooth motion, and one of the Demons goes down. She twists back, and Henry shifts his grip, his arms shaky. 

 

“Hang on kid!!” She says again, and prays with all her might that he can. 

 

She flies straight up, then swoops back down and fires again, and again, and again, taking another of the Demons down and wounding a third. 

 

The wounded one lags behind, his wing struggling to catch up with a hole through it, and it’s easy to pick him off with one last arrow. 

 

The fourth Demon comes up beside her and makes a grab for her wing, his claws grabbing a few feathers, and she howls. she tucks in her wing and rolls down and to the left, but the motion proves too much for Henry, and his grip slips. She tries to right herself, but it’s too late, he’s already falling, his arm outstretched, trying to grab onto something but only finding empty air. 

 

-

 

Regina is manhandled into a chair in a large room off to the side. It’s more industrial than the lobby had been, and Regina guesses this was probably a storage room or garage.   
  
There are signs drawn in chalk on the floor surrounding the chair, and Regina feels her powers wink out as soon as she crosses the perimeter. 

 

It’s an unsettling feeling. There’s always been a hum in the back of her brain, an energy that she could tap into, and now it’s gone, and she feels naked and incomplete. 

 

She’s tied down to the arms and legs of the chair, which has been bolted to the floor. She strains against the bonds, but they hold tight. 

 

“Now, what shall we do with you?” 

 

“What do you want, Rumbove?” 

 

“All in due time.”

 

-

 

Emma roars and shoots an arrow directly through the eye of the last Demon, then disappears her bow and dives, her wings tucked in close. 

 

She grabs Henry right above the treetops and flicks out her wings, which wrench painfully, but she manages to keep upright. 

 

“It’s okay, buddy, I got you.” 

 

He’s on her front now, her arms around his shoulders and his behind, just like how she used to carry him when he was small. He’s shaking, his head buried in the crook of her neck, and she just holds the back of his head, whispering “it’s okay” over and over as she flies. 

 

She’s going fast, but not quite at the breakneck pace she had been, and it doesn’t take too long to reach her destination. 

 

There’s a small rooftop ahead, through the trees, and she touches down, setting Henry down gently. His knees buckle when he tries to stand, but she catches him and he steadies easily. 

 

Ruby and Belle are waiting on the roof, and they scramble up to give Henry a hug when they see him. Emma kneels in front of him. Her energy is wild and she’s glowing softly, her hair moving in a nonexistent wind. 

 

“Henry, you need to go with them, okay? I need to go back and get your mom.” 

 

“It’s true? She’s a Demon?” 

 

Emma sighs. “Yeah, kid. It’s true.” 

 

He shakes his head slightly, like he’s trying to dislodge the idea from his mind. 

 

“She’s also my best friend, and your mom, and I need to go get her, okay?” 

 

“I don’t want you to go.” His voice is small and it breaks Emma’s heart. 

 

“I don’t want to leave you, sweetheart, but I have to. We need her back.” 

 

He nods, and Emma hugs him hard. “Be good for Ruby and Belle. You’re being so strong, my brave boy, and I love you so much.” 

 

She steps away, to the edge of the roof, and unfurls her wings to their full span. She lets herself go entirely, Angelic power coursing through her in levels she hasn’t felt in millennia. She shines like a star, her eyes glowing white, as she goes off to battle. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, folks, we’re finally getting somewhere. gonna be the big one in a couple chapters or so. also y’all my tumblr is the same name (thandevorn) if you ever wanna drop by for a chat. enjoy!! i hope all y’all have a very happy new year!!!

_ “Watch yourself, Elizabeth. The mistress is in fine form this morning.” Regina’s lady’s maid whispers to the chef as she walks by with the morning’s washing.  _

 

_ “Lord above, when isn’t she nowadays?” Elizabeth goes on mincing vegetables, readying the omelet for her mistress’ morning meal.  _

 

_ “I don’t know. She’s never been pleasant by any means but since she got back from town it’s been harder to make her happy than it is to find a glass of water in hell. It’s been two years, Elizabeth. Two years.”  The conversation is carried out in hushed tones, for the butler Georg was devoted to his mistress and not at all hesitant to dole out punishments to disloyal staff.  _

 

_ “I don’t know what will do me in first, the redcoat invaders or her temper.”  _

 

_ “Lord help us all.” Elizabeth crosses herself and carries on with the never ending mincing.  _

 

_ - _

 

_ Regaphiel is reading the evening post and studiously  _ not  _ looking for a letter from her absent angelic friend. Well, she thought they were friends. She’s not so sure anymore.  _

 

_ The door to Regaphiel’s parlor flies open and she looks up in annoyance. “I thought I made it clear, Georg, that I was not to be dis-“ She finally takes in his face.  _

 

_ “What is it?”  _

 

_ “The British, milady, they’re almost here. Bladensburg is lost. We must leave immediately.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel stands so abruptly it knocks over her chair. “Emeleth” she whispers, her thoughts immediately going to the brick house on I Street that was directly in line to the Capitol. She hasn’t seen the Angel since that day two years ago, and she doesn’t know what happened to her, but she’s got a sinking feeling that Emeleth had gone back to sleep.  _

 

_ “I implore you, milady, make haste.”  _

 

_ Regaphiel snaps out of it. “All the staff members are to make their way to the basement under the barn. Leave the doors open, and create a mess to make it look like we left in a hurry. The British will come through, take what they will, and move on. There are enough supplies down there, you won’t be discovered and you shan’t be bothered. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  _

 

_ “But, milady…” _

 

_ “I shall endure no protest, Georg. Do as I say.”  _

 

_ “Yes, milady.” He exits swiftly to mobilize the household, confused but duty-bound to carry out his orders. He doesn’t know it yet, but their staff will fare better than any other in Arlington, for those who tried to evacuate were immediately rounded up by British forces.  _

 

_ Regaphiel grabs her trusty black stallion from the stable and immediately sets off, the black hooves making a staccato beat against the cobblestones as she rides hard towards the city and the raging battle going on within it.  _

 

_ - _

 

_ Regaphiel swings north, foregoing the usual ferry route to ford the river on the northside of Mason’s island. Her horse is obedient and silent, quietly wading through chest-high water without complaint. They reach the other side, magically warm and dry, and Regaphiel mounts swiftly. She keeps to the side streets, picking through Georgetown. There’s a constant throng of people moving in the other direction, out to Fairfax county and supposed safety, but they part for her horse automatically.  _

 

_ Just one of the many perks of being a force of darkness and shadow.  _

 

_ There’s a knot of fear in her stomach, which is relatively new for her. There’s not much to be afraid of when you’re a Demon, since most of the things that go bump in the night are things you create. Death isn’t really a problem, either, unless brought about by Heavenly instruments. Discorporation is annoying but surviveable. _

 

_ She doesn’t want to think about why she’s afraid. That’s a Pandora’s box she’s not willing to open yet. She’s been avoiding thinking about fear and it’s implications since she felt it for the first time for real on that hot summer’s night in Basque all those years ago. She doesn’t think about how monumentally, earth-shatteringly, possibly-universe-endingly bad it is to be afraid for an Angel, because fear implies concern, which implies….  _

 

_ Nope. Not thinking about that at all. Not one bit.  _

 

_ She’s surprised though at how distracting it is. It’s so hard not to think about your fear. How do humans get anything done?  _

 

_ The crowd thins as she gets closer and closer to the sounds of the drums, the remaining citizenry either gone or hiding from the rowdy British soldiers. She reaches the house on I Street, and is close enough to their march that she can hear the war song they’re singing, a repetitive chant that takes on a sinister tone when sung by a thousand men with muskets and torches.  _

 

_ There aren’t many stragglers from the line, the whole column moving onwards down Maryland Avenue with surprising focus. Regaphiel guesses they’re heading for the high-profile targets first, the new Capitol or maybe the President’s house. But she’s been in enough wars to know the true horror isn’t during the initial strike, it’s when the soldiers have conquered a city and they spread out, the alcohol flowing and bloodlust strong, to loot and pillage and rape and celebrate in the worst ways. She doesn’t have much time.  _

 

_ She hobbles her horse and steals into the dark house, moving immediately to the back bedroom where they had that fateful fight two years ago. As expected, her Angel is spread out across the bed. Regaphiel takes in the pallor of her skin and the limpness of her normally lustrous hair and frowns.  _

 

_ An Angel’s ability to look stunning in every situation is innate, almost as automatic as breathing. It’s part of their power, part of their shtick. This is by design—humans will generally have a higher degree of trust in beautiful creatures, which is a terrible decision-making algorithm, but so are most human decisions, so that’s neither here nor there. If Emeleth has lost her sheen, then something is definitely wrong.  _

 

_ Not that Regaphiel couldn’t have gotten that from the unplanned twenty-two year nap, but anyway.  _

 

_ Regaphiel lifts the Angel easily and carries her through the house like a child, her head on her shoulder and her arms under her knees and back. She removes the hobble and pushes them both into the saddle with a little flex from her wings, then grabs the reins with one hand while holding tight around Emeleth’s middle with her other forearm. Emeleth is beginning to stir against her shoulder as she flies through the city, moving to the north and west and, hopefully, away from certain death.  _

 

_ Not that she could actually die, of course, but being discorporated is a terribly messy process. So much paperwork. So much time away from Earth and all it’s… charms. She looks down at the mop of blond curls against her chest and sighs, more relieved than she’s been in years.  _

 

Regina stays still, waiting for Rumbove to make his move. He could never resist a dramatic show, and she’s more than willing to let him run his course, while she waits for an opportunity. 

 

She flashes back to the image of Emma and Henry flying out the door. She’s torn, on the one hand the relief she had felt at seeing an unharmed Henry in the arms of his other mother had been overwhelming. On the other, seeing her family fly out the door felt like a piece of her soul was torn away, leaving a raggedy, bleeding mess where her once-whole heart was. She knows Emma made the right choice, because Henry always comes first. 

 

But she’s surprised at how alone that made her feel. She’s been living for five thousand years, but only in the past decade has she truly felt alive, and she knows it’s because of her newfound family. 

 

Regina shakes her head in annoyance, trying to get the sappy feelings out of her head. She’s a Princess of Hell, it’s unbecoming. 

 

It’s no matter, though, she’s always been able to take care of herself, and this time will be no different. She’ll get herself out of this mess and then go home. 

 

She has to. Anything else would be unthinkable. 

 

-

 

It’s a while before Rumbove reappears, flanked by two Demon grunts. 

 

“Well now, dearie, how are you finding our accommodations? Is everything to your satisfaction?” He giggles. Regina remains silent. 

 

“I must say, dearie, I’m rather disappointed. I remember when you had such potential. And yet, here you sit, a Princess of Hell brought low by an eleven-year-old boy. You’ve gone  _ soft.”  _ The last word is dripping with derision. 

 

Regina remains stonily silent, her refusing to play along with his games being the only act of rebellion available right now. 

 

Rumbove and the demons look up suddenly, and Regina follows their gaze a second later. 

 

Light begins to flow through the ceiling as an Angel descends, and Regina’s heart flutters through her chest. Did Emma come back for her? She can’t have, can she? 

 

The Angel fully materializes in a show of swirling lights to reveal the squarely masculine frame of Gabriel, and Regina blinks in surprise. 

 

What the fuck? 

 

Angels and demons have been the definition of mortal enemies for six thousand years, without any acknowledged communication that didn’t end in bloodshed,  _ especially  _ not between archangels and the demon gentry. Seeing Gabriel here is like checking both ways for traffic, stepping out into the road, and immediately getting hit by a crashing airplane—you knew there was some danger, but it looks a little different than expected.

 

-

 

Emma comes in low and fast, her wings tucked backwards, weaving through the trees at a dizzying speed. She shoots past the treeline and flicks out her wings quickly, coming to a stop right at the edge of the building. She keeps her back flat to the side of the grey building, her bow outstretched with arrows in her fingers, ready for some quick shots. She’s flowing with energy, and she knows every demon in the vicinity will sense her soon, so she’s ready for combat. A sword is strapped to her hip and her machete is on her other thigh, ready and itching to discorporate some demons. She doesn’t really have a plan, here, since their last plan didn’t work out quite as expected, so she’s just kind of hoping that she can kill enough of them to allow them to escape. Preferably without either of them being discorporated. Escaping without being maimed would be nice, too. That’s about as far as she’s thought ahead. 

 

She waits for a while, but nothing happens. 

 

Hm. 

 

She crouches down and runs swiftly along the edge of the building until she can see Regina through a window. 

 

Her heart leaps a bit at seeing Regina unharmed, until she catches a glimpse of the Angel beyond her, and she freezes. She swears under her breath. 

 

She can’t imagine any situation that would lead one of the most powerful Angels to team up with one of the most powerful Demons, but she knows it can’t be anything good. 

 

It is nice that his powerful aura masks hers, so she decides to wait and see what comes next. 

 

-

 

“Gabriel, how nice of you to join our little soirée.” Rumbove wears a manic grin and embellishes with a little twirl of his hand. “Please, do come in.” 

 

Gabriel nods curtly. “So this is her?” He’s wearing a tan suit, perfectly tailored around his broad shoulders, with a lavender scarf tied in a knot at his throat. His eyes are a clear, deep purple, and his face is a slightly pained mask, like the face you wear when your grandpa starts being racist at thanksgiving—you don’t particularly want to be there, but for the moment there’s not much you can do. 

 

Rumbove smirks and waves towards her, like he was presenting a particularly fine evening meal. “Hell’s finest Demon, in all her glory.” 

 

“Well, then, let’s get this over with.”

 

Get what over with? Regina has a bad feeling about all of this. 

 

Rumbove turns to Regina, his grin ever so slightly wider. He’s ready, he’s been waiting for his big reveal, she can tell.

 

 If Angelkind’s mortal flaw is blinding self-righteousness, then a Demon’s mortal flaw is an impractical penchant for drama.He could just shoot her now with any gun and she’d be done for, easy peasy. But no, there has to be a show, and Regina sees a small opportunity. 

 

“Now, now, dearie, I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve brought you here.” 

 

“Okay, if you’re going to start monologuing, I’d like to request that you kill me now. Spare me the pain.” 

 

Rumbove giggles. “My, my, dearie, we’re not going to kill you.” 

 

Regina’s eyes narrow. “You might want to rethink that plan, Rumbove, because I’ll come for your throat the second I’m free, and the legions of Hell itself won’t be enough to stop me.” 

 

“Someone’s in a tetchy mood today.” 

 

“Well, now, I wonder why that could be.” 

 

“Enough!” Gabriel snaps. Rumbove’s face betrays annoyance for just a split second  at being interrupted before he could get to his big reveal, and Regina carefully notes that for later. 

 

 “You” Gabriel jabs a finger in Regina’s direction “are going to kill that angelic housemate of yours.” 

 

Regina’s blood runs cold. 

 

“No the heaven I won’t.” 

 

“Fine. I will. I’m flexible like that.” He shrugs casually and starts to walk away. 

 

Regina shouts “Wait!” 

 

“Why? Why do you need to kill Emm—Emeleth?” 

 

“Simple. I need an excuse.” 

 

“For what?” Regina’s now desperate to keep him talking, to give Emma and Henry a chance to get away. 

 

“To start the war, sweetheart.” 

 

“War?” 

 

He sighs, exasperated. “The war between heaven and hell. We were…… unsuccessful in starting it with the horsemen and the antichrist, but no matter. The war will have to start” he holds his hands to his face in a mockery of the damsel in distress “when poor defenseless Emeleth is slaughtered in cold blood by a Demon. We couldn’t help but step in to avenge her honor. It was only right.” 

 

“But why would I kill her?” 

 

“Simple. Anyone with eyes can see that you’re in love with her, as much as your kind can be, anyway. She rejected you, so you killed her. Or maybe you just did it because you’re a Demon, and all Demons suck. I don’t know, I don’t care, it really doesn’t matter.” 

 

Regina’s heart is beating loudly at having her feelings revealed to the world. How did he know? Her head is spinning, but she fights to clear it. She has to keep him engaged, keep him here.  

 

“Why do you need to start the war at all? Wouldn’t it be for the greater good to—“

 

The purple eyes flare in anger. “Don’t talk to me about the greater good, sunshine, I’m the archangel  _ fucking  _ Gabriel.” He rolls his shoulders, like he can physically shrug off his ire. 

 

“Why can’t you downside people get it? It’s not about stopping the war, it’s about winning it. There has to be a war, it’s what we’ve been working for since the Beginning, and we will win. Demonkind will be eradicated, and the universe cleansed.” He says it with disturbing certainty and a slightly wild look to his eyes, the telltale signs of a fanatic. Regina feels a deep knot of fear, somewhere behind her ribcage. She’s seen evil of all genres and presentations, and she knows that the most dangerous evil is the man who follows a path blindly and without doubt. Bonus scary points for any white man throwing in words like “eradicated” and ”cleansed.”

 

She looks at Rumbove. “And why on earth would you be party to this little demon-killing plot?” 

 

“The Archangel here and I agree wholeheartedly about the need for a war, of course. We are less simpatico regarding the final outcome, but that’s not important for today’s entertainment.” He giggles again. 

 

Regina really hates that giggle. 

 

“What about all the humans on Earth? Won’t they die?” 

 

“Probably, but they’re going to die soon anyway. Humans are always dying, it’s like, their whole thing. They live confusing, hideous lives and then they die.” Gabriel shrugs. “Now, enough chit chat. Let’s get on with things.” 

 

-

 

Emeleth has made a moderately sneaky circuit of the building, discorporating a handful of sentries before returning to her window. She’s plotting her rescue attempt, since she’s confident are no other demons in the building. Most likely. Well, 65% sure, anyway. Good enough. 

  
  


“ _ Simple. Anyone with eyes can see that you’re in love with her—“  _

 

Emma’s heart beats hard, a sudden rush of blood in her ears almost drowning out her thoughts. 

 

_ What? How… what? _

 

That’s about as far as she gets, and I’ll save you from the next few minutes of repeating single-word interrogatives. 

 

She barely hears what Gabriel says next, though she files that particular revelation for a later freak-out. After a few mind-bending minutes, Emma gets the distinct impression that the conversation is reaching its close, and figures that’s probably not good. She cracks the window on miraculously soundless runners, and pokes the head of a drawn arrow through. She lines up her shot carefully, this one has to be perfect… 

 

She fires. The arrow flies true, and cuts straight through the heavy hemp rope that binds Regina’s arms together. 

 

Everyone in the room looks over in surprise, and Emma uses that time to draw and fire twice, nailing the grunts in the heart. They vanish in a cloud of Demon-scented smoke, not discorporated but fully dead, thanks to her handy, holy arrows. She aims again, going for Rumbove this time, but he has caught up to the new wrench in his plan and dances out of the way easily. Regina has recovered with gusto and is currently standing off to the side, lobbing hellsfire at Gabriel, who quickly winks out in a swirl of lights, presumably to go back upstairs. They’re slowly backed into the wall, with Rumbove firing back wholeheartedly. 

 

“Regina, are you ready for plan omega?” 

 

“Which one is that again? You make so many plans, dear, I always forget.” Their tone is casual, but the stress in their faces bely the seriousness of the situation. 

 

Emma sighs. 

 

“It’s pretty simple, really.” Emma fires one last volley that nicks Rumbove in the hip, and she turns in the same movement, grabbing Regina’s hand and pulling her towards the window. 

 

“Run!” 

 


End file.
